When Death comes a'knocking
by Under the Oak Tree
Summary: DISCONTINUEDExplanation in last chapterHPYnM xover.Voldie has a plan.The Tuatha de Dannen are desperate.And the Shinigami might lose everything for the sake of The Boy Who Lived.
1. Chapter 1:The trouble with free will

**Title: **When Death Comes a'Knocking: Book 1 – Of Revelations

**Plot Mistresses: **Shiozaki, Shaynie, Librarycat, Literary Eagle

**Spell Researchers: **Fellow wizards, witches & omnyouji at my Yahoo!Group

**Summary: **A Harry Potter and Yami no Matsuei crossover. Voldemort has been making plans, the Tuatha de Danna are getting desperate. And the Shinigami may lose everything for the sake of The-Boy-Who-Lived. Post-OoTP.

**Warning 1: **PG-13 (will change)

**Warning 2: **This story features 4 main Shinigami – Shiozaki Kyo, Matsumada Takashi, Tsuzuki Asato and Kurosaki Hisoka. Both Kyo and Takashi are Original Characters. If you're put off by that, it's understandable. But please give them a chance. After all, the number of reviews this story has generated says something, ne?

**Disclaimer: **The following disclaimer applies to this and subsequent chapters, as well as previous related and unrelated works. This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, Yoko Matsushita, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, Warner Bros. Inc., and Hana to Yume. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

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** Chapter 1**

** The trouble with free will**

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"My Lord."

The Shinigami bowed deeply, foreheads nearly touching the tatami-covered floor as they paid obeisance to the God of Death and Judgment. They might have even stayed in their pose of abject awe and deference had not a pale hand lifted in a languid gesture that managed to convey utter blasé ness and a mother's welcoming warmth. Not seeing that gesture, after all, when you're bowing that deeply you tend to only be able to see the floor in front of you, they did sense the graceful permission to be seated.

The 'Gods' of Death after all, were the servants of Enma-Daioh. They were as attuned to him as no other that served the Land of the Dead. None but him alone wielded their power in his sure grasp. And none could, for to hold the reins of power over the Shinigami meant that you were holding the very bridle of both realms; Life and Death. For the Shinigami were the damned that were given the power to walk between worlds.

Pure black pupils, ringed by almost liquid gold irises settled their gaze serenely over four of the 'damned'. Damned by no hand of god but by their own. Those unfathomable eyes saw past their mortal identities to the soul beyond and judged them in the instant it took for them to blink. The smile he gave them was filled with love and understanding. Never let it be said that Enma used the post of Shinigami as a punishment. It is instead, a way to salvation.

He let his immortal gaze linger on the four for a moment longer, and if it can be rightly described as such, he basked in their presence. For any parent would in the company of beloved children.

Kurosaki Hisoka. Trying to find understanding for a life misunderstood and shunned. He found the very things he yearned for in death.

Tsuzuki Asato. One with a past so long and deep and hidden, that none but him and the God of Death could see past the obscuring veils of time and prejudice. Asato had found some semblance of peace in the young and wretched life of Hisoka.

Shiozaki Kyo. Living a life of not believing in his own worthiness to be loved, only to be proven wrong by another. And only to lose a mortal's chance of happiness in earthly coil to save the very one who gave his life meaning. He had found that happiness again in death. He was unique in that.

Takashi Matsumada. Lover, husband, confidante, partner and as cliché as it sounds to others, soulmate of Shiozaki Kyo. To have his life saved by Kyo's death and after trying to live without half of his soul, had found that same lost happiness in an accidental death. The both of them lived their death as they would have lived their lives.

The four of them were part of the damned.

They are his children.

But these observations, seen as it were through the eyes of an immortal were lost to the one stranger in their midst. His was a kind not seen in these Hall for a long time. The color of his skin, pale and tinged with pink was enough of an indication that he was not native to the Islands. Any guess to his origin, to the uninformed observer, would have been hard-pressed as to the frank curiosity of the assembled Shinigami, he wore the strangest clothing ever seen.

An almost blinding purple robe covered his short frame. Yet the billowing garment failed to hide the paunch that seem to speak of soft living and gentle decadent habits. The soft skin of his hands were not lost upon the two trained bushi in the Hall; Kyo and Hisoka. Whomever this man was, his kind was clear. He was an administrator. But not one of the JuuOhCho. For one thing, no sane man would wear what appeared to be a dress to work. A dress that was covered in glittering gold and silver stars that they could have sworn were winking and flashing.

As the Shinigami settled back in their cushions, they averted their gaze respectfully from the visage of their god only to settle in curious examination of the stranger. The florid faced man was seated slightly ahead of them yet to the left of the dais and faced the space between men and god. It had the faintest smack of a trial, the man a clueless defendant facing judge and jury.

Tsuzuki, the senior of them all, if not the most senior employee in the whole JuuOhCho after Konoe Kacho, deferred to Takashi instead. The man, though having died at the age of 28 was a natural-born diplomat. The fact that in his mortal life he was a doctor helped. Not to mention that having Kyo as a husband and life partner, as well as having that said partner in close cahoots with the earlier mentioned Tsuzuki in chocolate raids had honed his skill of mediating fights over the last piece of chocolate in the shop. It would have actually been more preferable to Takashi to have Tatsumi or Kacho handling any meetings with Enma-sama. Yet only the four of them were requested specifically to this meeting.

"My Lord," Takashi again bowed deeply from the waist, only raising himself after giving the proper interval of obeisance. His hand had snuck out of its own conviction to clasp Kyo's cool one, seeking assurance. Kyo squeezed back comfortingly. No matter how unflappable you were, even the best would get slightly rattled in the presence of a god. "How may we serve you?"

Enma's sweet smile never slipped, a fact that reassured the Shinigami greatly. They doubted that Enma would look that pleasant should they have made some serious infraction that they were miraculously unaware of. What they were aware of however, was that Enma's forceful presence was somewhat dimmed. A fact that Hisoka was grateful to note. Strong he may have become in his empathy and shielding but no amount of it could withstand the full majesty of a deity.

"You may serve me as you have all along, children," Enma replied. His smile slipped a notch and to the Shinigami's rather amazed realization, Enma actually shot the stranger an almost annoyed look. "We have here a representative from our brethren in the British Isles. May I present to you, Mr. Banalius Fudge, Head of the Summoning Division of Britain's Bureau for Processing the Dead."

The Shinigami's eyes widened. A fellow Shinigami? And a Brit on top of that!

Mr. Banalius Fudge suddenly found himself the recipient of four sets of astonished gazes and he fluffed himself up importantly. Banalius had held the seat of the Head of the division for over 20 years and had gotten quite comfortable in it. He naturally assumed that such frank amazement was his due after all.

He had a most unpleasant shock when the young boy with wheat-gold hair spoke up. "I never really thought that there were other Shinigami in other countries," and immediately offered the deity a hasty half-bow. "Forgive me for speaking out of turn, my Lord."

Enma waved aside the apology good-humouredly. "No offense taken, Hisoka-kun. Mr. Banalius Fudge, may I present the most powerful Shinigami of Japan's JuuOhCho?"

With a start, Takashi realized that Enma was speaking in both Japanese and English at the same time. There was this odd quality of duality in his speech, gone the instant you tried to focus on it but there again when your mind was elsewhere. _Ah, he is a god you nitwit_, Takashi berated himself. _Why worry how this Fudge is understanding us and us, him?_

Then he immediately flushed a deep red at having been referred to as 'the most powerful'. Heck, all four of them were blushing, especially Hisoka.

"Yes, yes, good to meet you." There was a forced note of joviality in the man's voice, a certain pomposity that immediately raised their hackles. Enma's included. "Head of Britain's Summoning Division for over 20 years! Though I prefer to think of myself as a wizard first and foremost! Pride of self and all, eh?"

The Shinigami stared at him wordlessly, mouths agape. Never, in all of their years of service to the Meifu had they actually heard of any Shinigami actually saying something as ludicrous as that! Didn't the man realize that they all held this position of power through the grace of their God of Death? To actually believe that identity of self and Shinigami could be differentiated like that threw them in a loop.

And what the hell did he meant by 'wizard'?

Enma let out an imperceptible sigh.

"Children," he began. "The British Bureau for Processing the Dead has a request of us. One that I feel can only be completed by the four of you. Will you listen to it?"

The Shinigami immediately turned around to Enma and again bowed as one. "As we serve you my Lord," they intoned.

"Thank you," Enma smiled again. "But first, we must start at the beginning. Magic here in Japan and in the British Isles differ in many ways. For one thing, their practitioners of magic are called wizards and witches. They utilize magic in the use of wands and it is in their realm that the most prestigious school of magic is located. That school is called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And it is there that our story begins. . ."

The Shinigami settled themselves in for a long wait.

Enma was once again, alone in his Hall of the Dead. The four cushions before his dais showed the imprint of weight settled heavily for a long time, the fluffiness lost. The cushion seat next to the four was even more heavily pressed down.

The telling had taken the better part of an hour. To their credit, the Shinigami had taken in the startling information of wizardry, evil villains and helpless Tuatha De Dannen, their British counterpart, with no hesitation. But he could see the questions literally burning in their eyes. While they appreciated this new discovery of heretofore unthought-of workings of the world's Realms of the Dead, they were puzzled as to why they were the ones chosen for this new assignment. An assignment that would have them travel beyond the shores of Japan for over a year. More if needed.

"My Lord," Kyo had spoken up hesitantly. "I thought each Shinigami is tied to their JuuOhChos? To cross the borders of our jurisdiction is an offence punishable by eternal purgatory. . ."

"And that hasn't changed," Enma had assured him. "Though we are forced to make allowances this time. The threat faced by the Tuatha De Dannen must not be taken lightly. More than just Britain is at stake if they lose this upcoming war. Japan itself may be in danger if this threat isn't stopped."

"This threat you speak of, my Lord, why can't the Tuatha De Dannen handle it? Surely they number the powerful among them as well," Hisoka had shyly ventured.

"Now that," Enma had sighed again, "is another long story."

By the time his tale had finished, the Shinigami were almost pale with confusion, disbelief and information overload. But they accepted their charge willingly as well. He had bequeathed to Takashi, unofficial leader of the group, the necessary files and documentation to clear up any misunderstandings and to make it all official. Banalius Fudge had been sent to his guest quarters with cool politeness and efficiency. His flustered queries were given the assurance that the four Shinigami would travel to England with him in three days' time. Enough to get their affairs in order though not enough to arrange for everything else. But that was the beauty of being a god. One word from you and mortals would be falling all over themselves to ensure the Shinigami's smooth, safe departure.

To compensate for the last-minute assignment change, they were also assured that their wages would be paid as usual, as well as a monthly allowance and a sum set aside for any necessities they would need while in England. That last part had been offered by Fudge, which Enma graciously accepted. He couldn't help the little smirk that crossed his ageless face when Fudge obviously wilted at the acceptance. It was clear that Fudge had only offered to look good. He had expected to be refused. Enma had noticed that the Shinigami caught his smirk as well. They tried valiantly to control their laughter.

To add insult to injury, Enma sweetly assured them that the stipend they'd be receiving from Britain's Bureau for Processing the Dead would be quite generous. After all, _he _was perfectly aware that they were asking a _huge favour _from the Shinigami and he just wanted to look after their _best interest, don't we all?_

Fudge had looked slightly sick at the end of it but nevertheless, agreed.

Enma cast a last, jaundiced glance at the seat recently vacated by Banalius Fudge. His next thought was surprisingly un-god-like.

_The trouble with free will, _he thought sourly, _is the idiots you get with it._

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**to be continued**

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	2. Chapter 2:Bloody wizards & gloomy wizard...

**When Death Comes A'Knocking**

**Chapter Two: Bloody wizards & gloomy wizards**

_A story by Shiozaki_

**_Note! __I realize that by making Takashi and Kyo Shinigami for over 25 years already would seem to make End of the Worlds happen in the mid-seventies if I want to tie it in with the Harry Potter timeline. But the length of time is necessary so let's just all assume that everything works out for the best, ne? ^ __ ^;;;_**

**_Summary: __A crossover with my _****End of the Worlds Shinigami and ****Harry Potter. The British Shinigami are in a heap of trouble and ask our heroes for help. This is a 6th year fic and my own take on the secret of the Prophecy and why Harry is Harry.**

**_Plot-Mistresses: __Shiozaki & Shaynie_**

**_Spell-maker: __Literary Eagle_**

**_Warning: __Some light swearing. Kyo trying to annoy Takashi. Fudge annoying everyone._**

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Kyo shifted his grip on his bag, eyes wandering around curiously. The travel from their Meifu to the Brit's Land of the Dead was somewhat anticlimactic. He had expected something of a grander show, maybe some mysterious whispers echoing in a velvety blackness as eternity embraced and burned their flesh. There would be streaks of light, describable as something seen only in a dream and never explainable in real life. And maybe, there would be the faintest echo from the note that began all Creation, fading away into eternity only to end when time itself is destroyed.

Takashi had always remarked that Kyo was somewhat too melodramatic for his own good at times.

In actual fact, none of what Kyo hoped would happened, did. All there was to it was just a momentary blur of the senses, something that was common when they themselves traveled between Meifu and Chijou.

"There wasn't even a sort-of customs check," Kyo sniffed disdainfully. Beside him, Takashi heaved a martyred sigh.

"How on earth could they have a customs check in the realm between time and space?" Takashi asked logically. He knew better than to not respond to Kyo's rather. . . .odd statements at times. It would only miff the boy further and he would chatter nonstop for hours, each time coming up with more and more unreasonable queries. At least, with a little logic thrown in now and then, Kyo would then subside to muttered comments.

Kyo sniffed again. "I don't know. But they should. What if we got lost in the way? There's no signposts you know. 'This way to England!'"

Takashi sighed heavily again. With an exaggerated look of dismay on his face, he turned to the amusedly waiting Tsuzuki and Hisoka. "Why, oh why did I ever marry him?"

"For the great sex!" Kyo quipped back cheekily.

"Oh yeah, I forgot."

"Gentlemen! I trust you had a good journey?" a rather jovial voice interrupted them before the insane conversation could degenerate into something best not mentioned in polite society. 

Kyo's eyes narrowed slightly. It was the Pompous Ass. (Kyo was rather proud of his ability to come up with appropriate nicknames for annoying pests that came with the job. Takashi's only comment to that was that Kyo was as immature as they come.) Takashi and Kyo were the elected spokesmen this time. Without Enma's intervention, only the two of them could communicate with the Tuatha De Dannen, being the only ones among the Shinigami, except for Watari, that could speak fluent English. The matter of communication had come up as they were packing. They had been assured by the Britain's Shokan Head that there was a charm that could be performed to overcome that problem.

The Shinigami, following instructions left behind by Fudge as he left for England first to prepare for their coming, had materialized in a rather dim hall of sandstone and mortar. The walls were a dull beige as the floor, the only illumination coming from torches set in brackets on the walls every few feet. Takashi raised an eyebrow at that. What ever happened to electricity? Or did they have a monster version of Tatsumi running the department here?

Fudge himself stood before them in all of his garish glory. The purple robes they had seen him in last were replaced by a neon green one, striped. Pink stripes. With dancing elephants. Takashi knew he was going to have nightmares that night about elephants.

"Mr. Fudge," Takashi inclined his head cordially. Beside him, Kyo muttered something about how pompous asses had forever ruined chocolate fudges for him. Takashi ignored him easily from years of practice. "The journey was as well as can be expected."

"Yeah, for something that lasted barely 5 seconds," came Kyo's muttering.

Still smiling pleasantly, he jabbed a discreet elbow into Kyo's side. The boy subsided with a last "I'll get you for that."

 "Well, come along then," the forced joviality had slipped a bit, now that they were away from the awesome presence of Enma. Nevertheless, Fudge was an administrator to the core. And as an administrator as well as fancying himself as a sort of politician, Fudge knew better than to antagonize his saviours needlessly. One might never know when they'd be coming in handy again.

Too bad for him that they already hated his guts.

"Got your luggage, have you?" he asked briskly. "Good, let's go." He turned smartly and set off down a dark hallway and the Shinigami scrambled to catch up. Takashi, breathless a bit from the heavy bags he carried, called out to the portly man.

"Excuse me, sir? You said that there was a spell that can help communications between my colleagues and yours?"

Fudge stopped and gave him a brief scowl before changing it into another of his irritating smiles. "Ah, yes. I'd forgotten about that. Here we go then."

The Shinigami watched apprehensively as Fudge dug into the folds of his robes. After some patting and humming, he finally found what he was looking for. He held, in his pudgy hands, a short piece of wood, maybe 9 inches long and rather pinkish like him. A wand. The Shinigami's interest were heightened immediately as each waited eagerly for their first demonstration of western magic.

They were rather disappointed as all he did was wave it around a bit and muttered a few words. Waiting expectantly, the Shinigami exchanged wondering looks. All they felt was a slight tingle, nothing more.

"Well don't just stand there. We haven't got all day."

By Tsuzuki's and Hisoka's start of surprise, Kyo and Takashi realized that the spell, whatever it was, had worked. But Fudge hadn't waited to confirm it. Striding briskly down the corridor, robes flaring importantly behind him, the Shinigami hurried to catch up. As they were swallowed by the gloom, Takashi spared a moment to pray that not all British wizards or witches were like Fudge. He might be tempted to send them all into oblivion.

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Harry Potter, is a British wizard.

And no, he wasn't a pompous ass like Banalius Fudge.

Looking at him though, you wouldn't have thought that he was a wizard or anything of that sort, if you even believed in that sort of thing. Harry had with him, the air of a lost waif, all innocence wonder and you would have believed it too, unless you look really deep. He was relatively small for his age, and though he had shot up a bit over this summer, his height was all coltish angles and elbows. He had yet to get used to the new added inches of height and more often than not, tended to stumble or bump into things. But where his best friend Ron wore his growth like an ill-fitting costume, all big hands and feet, Harry wore his like a foal that teetered on the edge of becoming a proud thoroughbred. Despite his awkward movements as he adjusted to his new body, there was grace evident in his stature, waiting for the right moment to shine through.

And to add to it, his hair was as black as a raven and flying all over his head. No attempts with either comb or magic had succeeded. Some swore that the hair was magically-resistant. The messy hair though, added to his look of a lost youth coupled with green eyes so vibrant, some people, even his friends, could not hold his gaze for long. But if those eyes caught your attention, then his scar was a magnet. Hidden under a layer of fringe, the scar was the gift of a failed curse when Voldermort, the most terrifying Dark wizard of the century had tried to kill a one year old Harry. The death curse had rebounded, destroying Voldermort's body but not killing him.

After years of struggle, some big adventures that involved Harry, his best friends Ron and Hermione and his school Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Voldermort had returned. In all of his snakelike glory. It wasn't Harry's fault. If anything, it was his past efforts that had stalled Voldermort's return to power time and time again. But luck, as sailors claimed, was a fickle Lady.

Early this year, in his fifth at Hogwarts, Harry had become caught up in another big adventure. Complete with secret organizations, Death Eaters, Azkaban and the ever incompetent Ministry of Magic, something that Harry had feared, in the deepest places of his heart, happened. 

Voldermort managed to possess him.

Oh, it wasn't like in that movie 'The Exorcist' (Harry managed to catch it on the telly once when his relatives had gone out for a party. For the first time in his life, Harry had actually prayed that they would come back soon. The movie scared him). Rather, it was a subtle manipulation of the mind that had played Harry like an unwitting fool into Voldermort's hands.

It wasn't supposed to happen. He was learning Occlumency, to protect himself from such an occurrence (if he had been made aware of it's _true importance or _somebody _would actually tell him what was going on once in a while) but that had ended before he succeeded in spectacular disaster. Never let it be said that Harry Potter and Severus Snape would ever call each other as friends. The Devil would go ice-skating first._

(Well actually, the Devil does go ice-skating quite regularly. It's his favourite pastime when not corrupting humanity and trying to lead the world into a thousand years of darkness and damnation. But that's another story.)

But the crux of the matter, regardless of whose fault it was, Harry cannot deny the conclusion of his realized fear and subsequent failure to overcome it.

That Sirius Black, his godfather, is dead.

Dead dead dead. Deader than a doornail. Dead as yesterday's lunch which all of it went into Dudley's tank of a stomach. Well, Harry assumed that Sirius was deader than a doornail. He wouldn't know. They couldn't retrieve his body, fallen as he did through the Veil.

The Veil that lead to Death.

Harry heaved a sigh, sitting back on his haunches and wiping a dirty hand across his sweating forehead. Summer had descended upon Little Whinging, Surrey with malicious vengeance. The days that passed were sultry and hot, the air thick with humid and buzzing gnats. The heat irritated Dudley to no end, trapped in the house. The diet the Smeltings nurse ordered for him had failed spectacularly when in the beginning of the holidays, Aunt Petunia had wailed miserably that her poor Duddikins was starved beyond recognition! Oh, her poor baby! And so, his slightly diminished bulk had doubled within a couple of weeks and Dudley was on the verge of having his parents install a lift in the house. He was getting too heavy to use the stairs. 

With Dudley trapped in the house, commandeering the air-conditioned living room, Harry was only too happy to follow his aunt's snapped instructions to weed the flower beds and trim the verges. Despite the cool comfort of the house, Harry knew there was little chance of him getting to enjoy it. They, his relatives, when not having him working harder than a house elf, would banish him to his room which of course, had no air-conditioning. And the windows were barred again with just enough space for Hedwig to squeeze through.

So here he was, on one of the hottest days of summer, working in the garden which was wilting miserably with brown edges to the leaves and flowers. No doubt Aunt Petunia would blame him for that. It was no use explaining to her that it would be better to install a sprinkler system for the garden. His Aunt's favourite excuse was that it already cost them too much feeding and clothing him.

Harry pulled half-heartedly at a stubborn weed. His hands were already covered with minute scratches and cuts, one deep enough to bleed again and again as he strained with bare hands with the knife-edged weeds. He could almost swear that the bloody critters purposely grew in manic frenzy whenever summer came around, just for the sole aim of annoying him. _But this is way better than being inside with them,_ Harry tried to console himself. Summers past, life was bad enough with the Durselys but somehow, ever since the Triwizard tournament, life here in Number four, Privet Drive had gotten positively downhill. He guessed that it had something to do with having Cedric's and now, Sirius's face floating merrily inside his head and saying how it was all his fault that they died.

He winced, as once again, the words _kill the spare_ reverberated in his mind. He sighed. This defeated the purpose of why he chose to immerse himself in menial tasks. He wanted to not think. And here he was, all of things, thinking. He wished Remus or even Tonks was around to talk with. Anything was better than having only his condemning conscience screaming at him every waking hour. But Hedwig was out delivering a letter to the very people he wanted to see. He was keeping faithfully to their admonishment before summer vacation started that he was to at least owl them once every three days. The active members of the Order of the Phoenix had taken evil delight in warning him, with Vernon in perfect earshot, that they'd be most displeased should Harry be having a hard time at home this summer.

Oh, Harry wasn't having a hard time. Not exactly. He had long ago resigned himself to the lowly status of a servant in the Dursely household.

No, what was troubling him was that he couldn't stop the voices that echoed. The voices that insisted that this was all his fault. He happened to totally agree with them.

________________________________________________________________________

Ami Shiina nearly burst into tears of relief when the Shinigami came into the staffroom. 

A petite 5" 3', the Shinigami had served as liaison between the Japan JuuOhCho and Britain's for over 15 years. Her post more in the capacity of observer rather than active participant, Ami had seen too many years on her hands learning the ins and outs of the Britain's Summoning Division. And like Takashi, she dearly wished to hex the Tuatha De Dannen to the deepest pits of hell. Especially Fudge.

As the Shinigami trooped in, fatigue clearly written on their faces from the heavy bags they carried, Ami couldn't help the little glare she sent Fudge's way. Which he was totally unaware of. _Bloody ass_, she thought sourly. _Couldn't the bugger at least help them with a weightless charm? _Ami, a sort-of diplomatic ambassador, had also been trained in the art of western magic. She even had her own wand. 11 inches of willow with the hair of a unicorn's tail as the core. Though she had learned to become rather fond of her wand, she still missed doing magic the good ol' fuda way. There was a huge chasm between the eastern and western practices and she had yet to find a comfortable common ground between them. Though wands and their type of spells certainly had their conveniences (cleaning charms for instances, bloody useful), wands were a poor substitute for a Shinigami's job.

As she was thinking the most uncharitable thoughts of Fudge, Ami was rather preoccupied, taking the time while the Shinigamis adjusted to their surroundings to smoothen down her kimono. It had come as a great pleasure to her to be able to don one. She refused point-blank to wear robes in meeting fellow Japanese after a 15 year abstinence. Besides, her kimono was far, far prettier.

At last, satisfied, Ami turned and waited for Fudge to make the necessary introductions. She had already been made aware that she was to act as a guide, helping the Shinigami to settle in comfortably as well as seeing to their needs while in England. Rehearsing the little speech she prepared, Ami finally saw her new colleagues properly.

Her jaw dropped.

From their looks, all four of them were around their late teens to at the most, late twenties. It wasn't exactly rare for Japanese Shinigami to be so young. They tended to, in fact as it was the young ones more often than not who had too strong attachments to the living world. The old ones tended to be weary of it.

So, no, it wasn't their age that had her gaping.

Just the small fact that all four of them were _abso-bloody-lutely gorgeous_, Ami's inner voice cheerfully supplied. _You're gaping by the way, that voice pointed out helpfully._

_It's not my fault! Ami defended herself. _I've been working in this bloody place for too long! They're a godsend!__

And she had to pause at that unintentional pun.

"Miss Shiina? Are you paying attention?" That irritating little pipsqueak was trying to get her attention. Wrenching her mind back to the present, Ami gave Fudge a weak nod. For once, his customary mangling of her name failed to raise her hackles. Fixing her smile to a less strained one, Ami gave the silently waiting Shinigami a deep bow.

"Ohayo gozaimasu, minna-san. Onamae wa Shiina Ami desu. Hajimemashite," she murmured respectfully, deliberately speaking in Japanese. Even if they had been given a Speak-All-Language charm, intentionally speaking in Japanese would override that and they would hear it as it is.

The Shinigami bowed back. The seemingly leader of the group, a handsome man with russet auburn hair and hazel green eyes greeted her in Japanese as well, taking in her kimono with a twinkling eye as he introduced his companions and himself. As the introductions finished, Fudge seemed to think that his job was done. With a last curt reminder to Ami to see to their guests' needs, he left in a swirling of robes to his office. The effect would have been more grand had Fudge not been a short pudgy man.

As Fudge left them, the Shinigami gave her easy smiles, the tension leaving their faces and Ami grinned back.

"Welcome to hell," she said brightly.

________________________________________________________________________

Like Meifu, the Tuatha De Dannen were given apartments near the Bureau's offices and the Shinigami were given one for their use. Ami, their guide, had apologized profusely for the apartment, as it was only a two-bedroom facility. She explained helplessly that Fudge hated to spend more money than he had to. She was somewhat confused when the Shinigami explained that they were used to living like this. Seeing her confusion, they quickly explained their marital arrangements.

Ami had seem rather disappointed then.

It was after a quick tour of the Ministry of the Dead that they were shown to their apartment. Ami had helped them by placing weightless charms on their bags and the journey had been a pleasant ten minute walk instead. As Ami seemed to share their opinion on Fudge, Kyo had no qualms about expressing his displeasure that Fudge had not thought to do the same before taking them on a journey of labyrinthine corridors just to get to the Summoning offices. Ami agreed wholeheartedly with Kyo's comments. Needless to say, she and Kyo got along quite well.

Since she had been given full permission to do whatever she had to in her capacity as a guide, Ami decided to stay and help them get their apartment habitable. It had taken the better part of an afternoon, made pleasant by the relaxed company and a sumptuous lunch prepared by Kyo and Takashi, groceries courtesy of a farsighted Ami. Tsuzuki had been expressly forbidden from even touching the stove.

It was after lunch, as the Shinigami were relaxing in the living room with cups of coffee. Ami had changed out of her kimono for the cleaning into a pair of old jeans and a t-shirt. 

"So," she smiled, cradling her coffee as she sat crosslegged on an armchair. The sofa had been commandeered by Tsuzuki and Hisoka while the other armchair had Takashi in it. Kyo sat on the carpet between Takashi's legs. "Let's get down to business shall we?"

They nodded agreeably. Ami prompted them with a "So what do you want to know first?"

Kyo spoke up. "Can you explain to us exactly, how magic works here?"

Ami nodded, taking a small sip of her coffee. "That's a good question to start with. And I'm afraid that's one of the main reasons why the British Shinigami have so much trouble in the first place."

Takashi tilted his head to the side questioningly even as his free hand patted Kyo's black hair affectionately. "What do you mean by that? I don't see any problems so far from what little magic we've seen performed."

Ami lifted an eyebrow. "Exactly. The keyword here is 'little'." 

Magic in most of Europe and the British Isles, she explained, had evolved rapidly from the times of Merlin and Morgana. Those great wizards and witches of the past had been true practitioners of the art, needing no wands to perform their magic. Like the Japanese practitioners, they worked directly with the stuff of magic itself, the main implement used an athame and only sparingly. But, Ami had sighed heavily, history had seen few wizards or witches with the power of Merlin or Morgana. Lacking the ability and focus needed to perform such massive acts, their western counterparts had invented the wand. Made of different types of woods with magical cores, the wands acted as a focus and an extension of the wizard. The centuries had evolved until almost all knowledge of 'wandless' magic had been erased from memory. The few that could do it were considered powerful and a rare breed.

And why is this a problem for the Tuatha De Dannen? Because wands were invented for _living wizards and witches. A pure soul existed in a different plane of reality than a human. A Shinigami, though a pure soul but gifted with a temporary body, existed on a different plane altogether. That made most wands an inconvenient and incompatible tool. The cores could not react to its fullest potential with a Shinigami and at best, was unreliable in major spellwork._

"Then how do you banish spirits here?" Hisoka asked, frowning.

Ami sighed. "Banishing is rarely done. It takes too much energy and too risky at times, what with wand magic being so unreliable for the Tuatha De Dannen."

"So you got wandering spirits roaming Chijou?" Tsuzuki asked with mouth agape.

Ami winced. "Yeah. They call it a form of therapy though. By letting the restless spirits stay on earth, they're hoping that the spirits would overcome their attachments by themselves. They insist that it's a better way than forcible banishing."

"But-but!" Kyo spluttered indignantly. "What about the wretched souls themselves?! They've got to be aware of the dangers to a pure soul left earthbound! They could become yuurei! Mindless entities!"

"Oh, they've covered that," Ami said wryly. "While a full banishing is hard, they can do enough to ensure some form of protection for pure souls. That way, their identity and memories are. . . somewhat protected. So don't be surprised by the ghosts you'll see."

The Shinigami leaned back, clearly confused and apprehensive. What they heard seemed to contradict everything they thought a Shinigami was supposed to be.

"That's not all," Ami said suddenly. The Shinigami exchanged wary glances. They weren't sure whether they wanted to hear more bad news. "The Tuatha De Dannen are dying out."

"Excuse me?" Takashi asked, blinking.

Japan, Ami explained, as everyone knows, sits on faultlines in the earth's crust, resulting in earthquakes. Those faultlines not only cause earthquakes but leak massive amounts of magic as well. Japan is one of the few places on earth that is literally soaked in magic. As such, Japan has one of the highest numbers of magically gifted people. Britain, and most of Europe, was not so lucky. They have their share of faultlines as well but they were few and far in between. Stonehenge, Avebury and the Tor are a few examples. And because of it, the wizarding population is slowly declining. But as though to offset that weakness, wizards tended to have longer lifespan, some, if not most, celebrating birthdays well into the hundreds.

"You can see why it's so hard to recruit Shinigami here," Ami sighed. "By the time they die, most wizards just want to get some rest and the very few that actually have attachments to the world aren't Shinigami material."

A long silence filled the room. The Shinigami were looking more than troubled. Obviously this assignment was going to be harder than they thought.

"Oh yeah, did I mention about Voldermort yet?" Ami asked brightly.

As one, the Shinigami groaned.

________________________________________________________________________

Harry Potter, British wizard, Boy-Who-Lived, and hero of the wizarding world (that is, when the Daily Prophet isn't maligning him), is feeling very. . . .depressed.

He was back in the garden again and hating every minute of it. The day had gone to hell and he doubted that it was going to get any better. That premonition began with breakfast. Back to his role of cook-cleaner-butler-gardener and general house slave, Harry was up with the sunrise, preparing breakfast for dear Duddikins. Breakfast which consisted of pounds of rashers, potatoes, eggs and sausages. Harry could practically feel a heart attack coming cooking with all that grease.

Flipping the sausages absent-mindedly, Harry had paid little attention to what went on around him. He was aware though, when with a sudden sizzle, the oil he was cooking with fizzed and spattered alarmingly. Now, Harry was used to oil burns since he was tall enough to reach the stove. But dear Duddikins wasn't. Luck, fickle lady that she is, had Dudley maneuvering his whale-ish bulk behind Harry as the oil burst and gotten some of the spray.

It was just a little burn. No more than some red spots that would fade away by the end of the day. But by the amount of wailing that Dudley was making, you would think that Harry had drenched him in boiling oil. So Harry was standing there with the spatula, blinking in confusion as Dudley wailed his head off. Aunt Petunia had immediately joined the wailing, fussing over poor Duddy-wuddy while Vernon stalked around the table in purplish rage.

Standing there, still with the spatula, Harry had the sudden, ominous feeling that the day had just taken a turn for the worse.

"What the hell were you thinking you abnormal freak?!" Vernon spat out. His large meaty hands were balled up fists and Harry watched them nervously.

"I-I'm sorry," Harry stammered. "It was an accident. It's just a little burn, nothing m-"

"Just a little burn?! I know what you were trying to do you freak! You were trying to hurt my son! It's not enough is it, that we give you food and shelter! Is this how you repay us?!"

Despite watching out for the sledgehammer fists, Harry could not dodge the blow fast enough. Glasses flying, Harry found himself on the floor, palm cradling his bruised cheek in dazed confusion. Needless to say, he didn't get any breakfast.

And as punishment, Aunt Petunia shrilly demanded that Harry do the garden and "Don't you dare step a foot in the house until it's perfect and I let you in!"

So there was Harry, hungry, tired, face aching and feeling decidedly unhappy with the world. He wondered what Ron and Hermione were doing now. Probably having breakfast with their loving family and even if they were doing the garden, Harry was pretty sure they would be taking breaks with ice cold lemonades waiting for them. No such luck for him. Even asking for a glass of water had seen Aunt Petunia shrieking like a banshee and brandishing a broom at him.

Sighing, Harry pulled disconsolately at a weed. No neighbours were out today, being in the middle of a hot afternoon so nobody was around to comment on why was _he out at that time. Nor did anybody notice the darkening bruise on his cheek. Besides, even if anybody was curious, he doubted they would care. He was after all, a juvenile delinquent from St. Brutus's._

Thinking this, Harry was somewhat surprised when a voice interrupted his gloomy depression.

"Kind of a hot day for gardening, don't you think?"

Startled, Harry looked up into the lightest pale blue eyes he ever saw.

                                                                                        *************

**                                                                                        to be continued**

                                                                                        *************

_How was it? I hope the explanations weren't too confusing. Harry is a hard boy to write. There's just too many stories out there about him that it's hard to not sound repetitive. But I do hope that I've done it in a fresh enough way that it'll keep you interested, ne? Do review._

**_Important! __The Shinigami, as I've mentioned, are from **The Kojiki Trilogy, Part III:** **End of the Worlds**. That means, whatever our Shinigami experienced in that arc, will be reflected here._**


	3. Chapter 3:To friendships & spy games

**Title: **When Death Comes a'Knocking: Book 1 – Of Revelations

**Plot Mistresses: **Shiozaki, Shaynie, Librarycat, Literary Eagle

**Spell Researchers: **Fellow wizards, witches & omnyouji at my Yahoo!Group

**Summary: **A Harry Potter and Yami no Matsuei crossover. Voldemort has been making plans, the Tuatha de Danna are getting desperate, and the Shinigami may lose everything for the sake of The-Boy-Who-Lived. Post-OoTP.

**Warning 1: **PG-13 (will change)

**Warning 2: **This story features 4 main Shinigami – Shiozaki Kyo, Matsumada Takashi, Tsuzuki Asato and Kurosaki Hisoka. Both Kyo and Takashi are Original Characters. If you're put off by that, it's understandable. But please give them a chance. After all, the number of reviews this story has generated says something, ne?

**Review Replies:**

**nekoMoon-chan****, Kaz N,pixy, Nightwings, Setsuna, NemKess: **Yosh! Thanks!

**DK-Adeena: **How faithfully you have reviewed me, even in my other stories! sob Er. . .about FAKE starts twitching It'll be up soon! looks around guiltily I got a quarter of it done. . .cough

**Kodomo**** Hikari: **really, you people oughta know by now how I love reviews. . .sniff but never mind! As long as you have! So when can we read your crossover??

**Shi-koi: **I'm grinning. I really am. Have you any idea how. . .abso-bloody-lutely wonderful the review you gave me?? grin It's wonderful. Thank you.

**Eria****: **One of my more voluble reviewers and I mean that in an absolutely good way! So where are your muses?? Haven't heard from them in a long while. I kinda miss them. grin What can I say, I never claimed to be totally sane.

**Sade****: **I love you. You know why? Coz you love Taka and Kyo as well. But I love you as well for reading my stories. grin I am humbled by your love for the characters I created. Keep on reading, ne?

**Child-of-the-Dawn & annonymouse: **Wah, the two reviewers who loved the whole "Free will" line! Thank you! I loved it myself! It's always so gratifying having a reader pick up a line you use and say that it caught their attention in any way. As a fumbling writer, I'm more than honoured. Thank you again!

**Sakusha****-san: **Thank you babe!

**Literary Eagle: **I don't know whether if I should even put you in here. I'm already dragging you kicking and screaming into this fic.

* * *

** Chapter 3**

** To friendships & spy games**

* * *

"Kind of a hot day for gardening, don't you think?"

With a startled oath, Harry fell back on his rump, hand flying automatically to the back of his shirt. Underneath it, he kept his wand tucked into the waistband of his ragged jeans, should he ever need it in an emergency. The unannounced visitor let out a soft cry, leaning over the top of the low brick fence which enclosed Number four.

"I am so sorry! I didn't mean to surprise you like that!" came the fast apology.

Still wary and no less cautious, Harry kept his hand over his wand and silently surveyed the stranger. He was tall, with hair that was equally black as his though it was slightly longer and falling in a more orderly array. Those eyes which caught his attention first was a blue that was so pale, it was nearly gray. A slender yet compact frame was hinted at beneath a white t-shirt and jeans. The t-shirt, short-sleeved, assured him with a quick glance that the boy (he looked to be no older than 18) had no distinct black tattoo in his inner left forearm.

But that didn't really reassure him. For all he knew, Death Eaters could conceal the Dark Mark with charms. Harry narrowed his eyes against the glare of the noon sun and studied the boy again. This time, looking for telltale signs that may hint to the presence of danger.

The boy's first, innocent image remained unchanged. He held no wand in hand nor was he reaching for one. The t-shirt itself wasn't very long or baggy and there was no suspect bulge which may be hidden weapons. So were the jeans. Aside from the backpack he carried over one shoulder, he appeared unarmed.

"Are you okay?"

Harry jumped again and this time, he noticed that the boy's eyes showed that distinctive slant of Asians despite his perfect English.

"Er. . yeah, I'm alright," Harry said quickly.

"Sorry again about that," the boy smiled easily. "My friends always accuse me of being too fond of creeping up on them. My name is Kyo Shiozaki by the way," he added and extended a hand in greeting.

Harry eyed the offered hand warily. He was pretty sure that you couldn't charm a person to act as a portkey, nor did the boy had his wand to apparate as his other hand rested in plain sight on top of the low fence. It was a battle of curiosity and caution that lasted a minute, the hand still extended and the boy cocking his head to the side and smiling quizzically.

He didn't know what prompted him. After all, going by on surface impressions to determine would-be Death Eaters is, of course, extremely stupid (who could forget Barty Crouch Jr.?). But there was something inside of him, that gut instinct which had told him that Ron Weasley is a good person, that Hagrid wasn't lying about magic and that Snape is a greasy git. That same gut instinct also said that this boy could be trusted.

So he gambled. He took the still proffered hand and gave it a quick, yet firm shake.

"Harry Potter," he said by way of explanation.

The boy (how did he pronounce his name?) gave him a rather guilty smile. He scratched the back of his head in that familiar universal gesture of sheepish embarrassment. "Yeah, I know who you are. That's why I came by. Thought I'd see you and introduce myself."

"You know who I am?" Harry asked warily and this time, he edged himself carefully away.

The boy cocked his head to the side again, frowning slightly. "I realize this isn't the best way to go about it but I really do mean you no harm."

"How can you prove that?" Harry challenged back.

That seemed to stump the boy for a moment, face going blank before he let loose a low chuckle. "I have no idea."

Absurdly, that comforted Harry and helped lower his raised hackles. After a long minute of silent debate, he offered the boy a hesitant smile. He doubted whether a Death Eater would come unprepared like that. "I'm sorry," he said hesitantly, "but what was your name again? I didn't catch it."

"Kyo Shiozaki. Call me Kyo. And yeah, I'm not British. Just arrived here a few days ago from Japan actually."

"You're a Japanese wizard?" Harry asked curiously, any lingering caution forgotten in meeting his first foreign wizard (the Triwizard champions didn't count. They were still Europeans. Asians were far more exotic!).

The boy, Kyo, winced slightly. "I prefer to call myself an onmyouji. I've been having too many annoying encounters with wizards."

"What's an onmyouji?" Harry asked, stumbling a little over the foreign word.

"Magician, same thing as a wizard. We just operate based on different methods and principle. But it's too hot a day to discuss differences in Eastern and Western philosophy. Much as it is a too hot day to do gardening."

The sudden shift in topic had Harry blinking confusedly until Kyo gently pointed out that he was drenched in sweat and looking rather sunburnt. Harry flushed slightly, dropping his eyes from Kyo's own. He was about to offer some excuse when the front door opened and Aunt Petunia stood on the doorstep in all of her horselike glory.

"Boy!" she screeched. "What the hell are you doing, standing around like that?! Hurry up with your work!" With a last irritated huff, she glared at Harry and slammed the door closed.

A long silence filled the garden until Kyo broke it with a mild comment.

"What a distinctively unpleasant woman, if you don't mind me saying so."

"Oh, I happen to agree with you," Harry replied distractedly, more than a little embarrassed having Kyo witness a slice of his daily summer life. Until the anomaly caught his attention. "She didn't see you."

Kyo blinked.

"You're standing right beside me and she didn't see you," Harry insisted. "Aunt Petunia doesn't like it if I talk with the neighbours or other wi. . ." he trailed off, flushing again but repeated doggedly, "She didn't see you!"

Kyo smiled again (against all odds, Harry can't help but fall under the spell of that smile. It was scarily like Dumbledore's). "It could be because I'm invisible to anyone but you."

"Invisible?"

Kyo nodded. "Mmhm. I didn't want to jeopardize your safety Harry, if I may call you that?"

"Yeah, it's okay," Harry grinned self-consciously. "Wait, does this mean that Du- I mean, Professor Dumbledore knows you're here? Did he send you?" And then his eyes widened. "You can be invisible without using a Cloak!"

Kyo blinked again. "Cloak? What, there's a cloak that can turn you invisible?" When Harry nodded, Kyo shrugged minutely. "Ah, we don't need one to turn invisible. And no, it wasn't Dumbledore that sent us."

Harry gave him a startled look.

In response, Kyo kept smiling and jumped over the low wall, adroitly staying clear of the flower beds. "Listen, why don't I help you with the gardening? That way I can tell you my story and your. . .aunt won't get mad again."

Harry took little time to accept his offer. Besides, Kyo didn't bother to wait for it. Dropping down to his knees cheerfully despite having his jeans soiled by the dirt, Kyo began to pull quickly and efficiently on the weeds, humming a little. With a moment's hesitation, Harry joined him and together, they began to work silently with Kyo's occasional humming filling the air. Harry wondered if, being invisible, would Aunt Petunia see the little clumps of dirt and weeds breaking away that Kyo was responsible for.

"She won't see a thing," Kyo said suddenly, tugging ferociously at a stubborn weed. With a grunt, the roots finally broke and Kyo swore under his breath. "Nasty bugger," glaring at the limp green in his hand.

"Er. . yeah, great," Harry replied.

After another minute of silent work, Kyo began to tell his story.

"Britain is not alone in facing the threat of Voldermort," Harry noticed immediately that Kyo had no hesitation in mentioning the name. "Should he succeed in his rise to power, we fear the rest of the world, especially Japan, may be his next target. Besides, the fall of a country as influential as Britain to a Dark Lord isn't exactly desirable," Kyo finished wryly.

"So who sent you here?" Harry asked, his curiosity reaching new heights. It never occurred to him that there are people out there who were just as worried about Voldermort and feared him. It reminded him again that his views of the wizarding world was remarkably narrowed to the people he met over his five years in the magical world. It had taken him until the World Cup Quidditch match before he realized the existence of European wizarding schools other than Hogwarts.

"We don't have a Ministry of Magic as you do here," Kyo continued. "Magic practitioners in Japan are very much integrated into mainstream society. But there is a coalition of people, powerful people, interested in the welfare of Japan. They sent us."

"Us?"

"They sent me and three others. We've been tasked to ally ourselves with the most powerful faction that's against Voldermort and render any assistance that will help them."

"You mean the Order of the Phoenix," Harry clarified.

Kyo's mouth twitched into a smile. "Yes. And as everyone knows the story between you and Voldermort, we decided to contact you first and get a feel of the situation here."

Harry gaped slightly. "Why me? Why not go straight to Dumbledore? He is the head of the Order."

Kyo sighed. "We can't. Not now. Neither side, Voldermort's or Dumbledore's, knows about us. Even though we're supposed to help the Order, we're also required to keep our true identities a secret until it is no longer possible to do so. My people prefer it that your side, nor Voldermort's, knows of our existence or help."

"Why is that?"

"Politics," came the dry answer.

"Oh." Not seeing a way to gracefully answer that, Harry kept quiet and went on weeding, Kyo doing the same and they quickly moved on to the next flowerbed. "So why me? I thought you being here is supposed to be kept a secret?"

"Because, like it or not, you're one of key players in this war. If not _the _key player. You're in this because of little choice. We would prefer that you trust us than have our efforts hindered by suspicion."

"And Dumbledore?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

Kyo was silent for a long moment, his hands idle until he turned slightly, fixing Harry with a serious gaze. Pinned by those light blue eyes, Harry found himself stilled and waiting.

"Dumbledore fights for the greater good, to banish evil and darkness. We fight for life, the world and humanity in general. Voldermort's rising will mean trouble on a scale unimagined by anyone. _We must stop him_. Dumbledore has too many factions to answer to and we don't need more politics to block us."

Harry dropped his gaze, biting his lip unconsciously. "I'm not sure I understand," he admitted softly. "I mean, Dumbledore is one of the greatest wizards ever. . ."

Kyo shrugged. "Even if we wanted to, our orders were clear. None but you alone are to know of our true purpose here. Even then we can only reveal so much to you. When we have no other choice are we allowed to tell you and Dumbledore everything. But you must believe this," Kyo ended with a sudden forceful note and Harry suddenly found his chin gripped gently, tilting his face up.

"We are here to help you."

Those eyes were too powerful an allure, Harry sinking deep into them. Those eyes, though light as a summer sky, held a well of emotion indefinable and impossible to resist. The few emotions he could identify with were sorrow. . .sorrow and a true longing to help. As he had wanted to but couldn't.

"I. . .I believe you," Harry said hoarsely.

His chin was let go and Kyo smiled gently back. "Thank you."

For some unexplicable reason, Harry basked in the warmth of that smile, wondering to where did the caution and apprehensiveness had gone to. He wanted to be suspicious, to still treat this boy with care and caution but that gut instinct had risen up again and insisted that he listen, that he trust.

Besides, what else is there for him?

"Now," Kyo said briskly, brushing off his hands and Harry realized with a start that all of the flowerbeds were clean and free of weeds. Kyo threw him a wink. "That's done. And don't worry, they won't detect my magic here."

"Wow, thanks," Harry blinked.

"Don't mention it. But would you care to explain to me how you got that bruise?" Kyo asked suddenly.

Despite his trust, despite his earlier feelings, Harry flushed again and refused to meet Kyo's eyes. "It's nothing," he mumbled, "I. . .fell down earlier."

For mercy's sake, Kyo didn't comment on it but instead, asked another question. "Do you mind if I drop in from time to time? Just to say hello?"

Harry gave him a sudden shy smile. "I'd like that." And he truly would. Summers were always painful to Harry, having no contact besides owl post with his friends. Having someone friendly to actually talk to was more than he could have hoped for.

"Good." He got a bright smile in return and Kyo started to rummage around in his backpack. "I'm sure I bought some. . ." he muttered, "Aha! A drink to our meeting?" He held out two cans of drinks.

Just how parched he really was came to him and Harry took the sweating can gratefully. Under the shade of a tree in a far corner of the garden, Kyo and Harry popped their drinks open. With a solemn look and clinking their cans together, they drank as friends.

* * *

The wind whipped his hair into wild tangles, flying into his eyes and tickling his cheeks madly. With long practice, Kyo ignored the discomfort, his gaze fixed relentlessly on the patch of suburbia that was spread out like a quilt a few hundred feet beneath him. If he squinted his eyes and look carefully, he could just make out the wards that surrounded Number four, Privet Drive. They were an awesome blaze of color and energy, designed to keep out anyone with malicious intent from entering. Even if he had any, Kyo doubted that the wards could stop him. He was a Shinigami and most wards and barriers were ineffective against them, designed as they were for living beings.

But it wasn't the wards that occupied his mind. It was the recollection of his first meeting with The-Boy-Who-Lived. (Kyo had to roll his eyes at that. Really, _Order of the __Phoenix_and _The-Boy-Who-Lived_? Wizards sure had an odd sense of humour). He crossed his arms and despite the utter incongruity of it, tapped his foot in agitation even though he was currently floating high in the air.

"Did it go well?" Takashi spoke up suddenly from behind him.

Not even startled (after all, they could always tell when the other was near), Kyo ceased his irritated foot-tapping and leaned back in Takashi's ready embrace. Takashi hugged him tightly in response, partly due to the cold but mostly for the comfort they derived from each other's nearness. With a practiced flick of his fingers, Takashi had an ofuda flying out and the paper talisman hung in the air before them. A bubble shield was created instantly, cutting off the rising wind.

"Kyo?" Takashi prompted him gently.

The boy sighed and turned his head to give Takashi a quick kiss. "It went great. He was a little suspicious at first but I managed to get through to him."

"So he'll go along with it then?"

"Yeah. . .though I didn't tell him about Hogwarts as yet."

Takashi nuzzled the spot behind his left ear gently, further releasing more of the tension he could feel that was practically tying up Kyo's muscles into knots. A quivering sigh and Kyo relaxed even further in his arms. "Do you think we should?" he murmured.

In answer, Kyo arched his neck to the side and Takashi readily acquiesced to his silent demand. He moved his questing mouth down the length of the neck revealed. His hands he kept clasped around Kyo as the boy melted more and more in his embrace.

"No. . ." Kyo finally gasped after a long minute. "You guys are right. We shouldn't give too much away too fast. Besides," he added wryly as Takashi let up a little on the torture, "It'll be fun to surprise him."

"You like him," Takashi surmised. "Should I be jealous?"

"Idiot," Kyo said fondly. "He's a sweet boy. I swear his eyes are even greener than Hisoka's at times."

"You know why it's like that."

"Mm. . .but I don't like his _family_." The word 'family' was practically snarled out. Takashi sighed mournfully as minutes of hard work went down the drain as once again, Kyo's back muscles knotted up, tensed and quivering with anger instead of rising passion this time.

"Why's that?" Takashi asked pragmatically and told his body to postpone the fun he had planned. Kyo didn't really seem to be in the mood now.

"His aunt came out when we were talking. Bloody woman was practically screaming at Harry to get the gardening over with. I've been watching him even before that. He was in that garden for over an hour and that bitch didn't even let him have a glass of water!" Kyo turned in the embrace and glared at the innocent Takashi. "I had to go to the stores first to get some drinks and snacks for the poor kid before I talked to him!"

"It could just be the aunt?" Takashi asked peaceably. Oh, Kyo was so not in the mood now. But then, he was losing it as well. He never did like hearing about possible abuse. It just reminded him how helpless they were to stop it. Never interfere with the living world.

"He had a large bruise on his cheek!" Kyo snarled again. "I really don't think that bony bitch was the one that gave it. Have you seen that whale he calls an uncle?!"

"What did Harry say?"

Kyo snorted. "He said he fell down. And no, I don't believe it. We've all seen too many inflicted and accidental bruises. This was inflicted alright."

They were silent after that for long moments, neither moving nor saying a word. Finally, rousing himself from the parade of images of children and even teenagers that they had to banish, all of them wandering yuurei thanks to the abuse they received in life, Takashi cupped Kyo's cheek gently in his palm.

"You know we can't interfere in the world of the living," he reminded softly.

Light blue eyes blazed with anger and a hint of irony. "We already are."

"Not more than we have to," Takashi said firmly.

Kyo opened his mouth, seeming to have an indignant retort when he closed it with a snap. The blaze of emotion died away, to something that resembled weariness and acceptance. It was the same look in his own eyes.

"You're right," Kyo admitted.

"Like I want to be," Takashi muttered and this time, it was Kyo's turn to try and placate him.

"Hey," Kyo nudged him gently within the circle of their embrace. "At least he said I could drop by sometimes, say hello. . .he seems to like the idea. It's better than nothing right?"

"Yeah, better than nothing," Takashi echoed.

His forehead creasing in a faint frown, Kyo bit his bottom lip thoughtfully before the frown was wiped away by a sly smile. Takashi knew that smile. It was the smile that made his toes tingle and set his heart racing in anticipation.

"You know," Kyo said slowly, running his hands up and down Takashi's broad chest seductively, "We didn't really get a chance to try out our new bedroom, did we?"

Takashi's breath hitched in his chest. Even after more than 25 years, he still could not get enough of Kyo. Just a simple touch and his body was raging with desire. "No, we didn't," Takashi said hoarsely. True enough. After all the unpacking, cleaning and briefing, the four of them had done little but to catch up on their sleep and waited for their jet-lag to adjust. Yes, crazily enough, they still get jet-lag.

Kyo batted impossibly long lashes coyly, fingers fiddling with the buttons of his shirt. "Well? What are we hanging around here for?"

They disappeared in the space of a heartbeat.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore had seen much in his century-odd years of life. He had lived through the rise and fall of many great wizards, both Dark and Light while he persevered. He persevered because he knew then, that at a certain point in time, there will be Dark Lord beyond anything that he had ever faced. He had, in a certain way, prophesied it. He hadn't wanted to be right. When he taught young Tom Marvolo Riddle, he had sensed the vast well of power within the young boy. Power that could so easily turn to good or evil.

He had tried his best. Tried his best to guide young Tom to a right path but Tom made his own. He ignored those roads carefully trodden and well-worn from the experience of many. Instead, he forged a new one, made from the deepest darkness that he could harness and at the end of that road, he found his true calling.

It was, and is, never easy, living in the times of the rising of a Dark Lord. From Grindelwald to Voldermort, Dumbledore had seen the best of men and the worst of men. He had borne witness to great heroic deeds and the basest of cowards. Yet he had never lost hope in the wizarding world. He believed that everyone has some good in them, just waiting for the right person to bring it out. Tom had been young and ideal once. Yes, Dumbledore always tried to see the good in people. To give them a second chance. Even a third at times.

But Merlin helped him, if he had Fudge right here right now, he'd wring the pompous little ass's neck in seconds.

Wrinkled, parchment-like fingers wore the mantle of age gracefully and showed no hint of infirmary as he shook out the heavy paper embossed with the watermark of the Minister of Magic's office. He had read the letter several times and he was still reading it.

_Cornelius Fudge_

_Minister of Magic_

_Britain Ministry of Magic_

_To:_

_Prof. Albus Dumbledore_

_Headmaster_

_Hogwarts__School__ of Witchcraft & Wizardry_

_Re: Asian-Europe Cultural Exchange_

_With regards to the above, the Ministry of Magic is pleased to host the first ever exchange program to foster ties with our Eastern counterparts._

_With this in mind, the __Japan__ Onmyouji Coalition has seen fit to send representatives of their group in order that they may study the art of western magic, as well as bringing knowledge from their world to ours._

_This is the first of such program and it is to our great honor that __Hogwarts__School__ of Witchcraft & Wizardry has been chosen as the first school to participate in this year-long program. The delegation would arrive in time for the new term this September 1st. It is our hope that Hogwarts will entertain this delegation with all the honor due and bring glory to the name of British wizards everywhere._

_Yours truly,_

_Cornelius Fudge_

_Minister of Magic_

They were in a bloody war and Fudge wants to have an exchange program?

* * *

**to be continued**

* * *


	4. Chapter 4:Happy Birthday, Harry

**When Death Comes A'Knocking**

**Chapter Four: Happy Birthday Harry**

_A story by Shiozaki, Shaynie & Literary Eagle_

**_NOTE TO ALL: __The head of the __Britain__'s Summoning Division is **Banalius**_**** Fudge. Not Cornelius. But they are related, yes.**

_Brothers.___

_Oh my._

**_Summary: __A crossover with my _****End of the Worlds Shinigami and ****Harry Potter. The British Shinigami are in a heap of trouble and ask our heroes for help. This is a 6th year fic and my own take on the secret of the Prophecy and why Harry is Harry.**

**_Plot-Mistresses: __Shiozaki__ & Shaynie_**

**_Spell-maker: __Literary Eagle_**

**_Warning: __Sweet moments._**

**_Review replies:_**

****

**_Sade_****_: __Fellow TxK Sweet Moments© Lover! Hehe! Like I mentioned above, it's not the same Fudge. It's his brother, Banalius. Imagine that._**

**_Kodomo_****_ Hikari: __Yosh_! Thanks for the plug! I'm honored actually, that you mentioned my fic ^^. I am currently reading yours, no worries, and I think it's got great potential. Hell, you could keep track of that amount of crossovers you're doing! I'm already getting headaches with just 2! And a glossary of terms? Wow. . .gosh, I'm not sure if I'm the one suited to do it. . .(really pleased though that you think I can!) Maybe, as a compromise, I'll do a glossary of terms in both canon and fanon YnM? As well as this (HP/YnM) fanon? What do you think?__**

**_Sakusha_****_-san, DK-Adeena, hiro-souma, Child-of-the-Dawn: __Thank you all! You love us. You really love us!_**

**_Literary Eagle: __. . . . . . . _**

**_Daemonchan_****_: __You disappeared for quite a while. . . .*pouts* What happened?_******

________________________________________________________________________

Harry lay on his dinky little bed and smiled.

Or at least, tried to. Currently, he felt too weary to do anything but just lay there like a piece of log. Summer, which had stretched out like the scaffold of an executioner's, all bleak and gloomy and bloody depressing, had lightened a little with the arrival of the foreign wizard ("Onmyouji dammit! I refuse to be called a wizard!") who was too nosy for his own good.

Kyo had descended into his life with all the subtle force of a hurricane. Barely a day after their first meeting, Kyo had popped by again, the same backpack slung over his shoulder complete with manic grin. True to his word, he had remained invisible to all eyes but him. Even Mrs. Figg, the squib, could not see him even as he passed by within an inch of her one evening. Mrs. Figg had dropped by on the pretense of borrowing Harry for some errands (Aunt Petunia had rudely turned her down. She needed Harry to start dinner) with one of her numerous cats twined around her ankle. If anything, only the cat had sensed his presence, and even then all the little critter did was to swipe playfully at Kyo's legs as he passed by. Kyo retaliated by sticking out his tongue.

Kyo had this habit of dropping by when he was stuck in chores around the house. Despite his protests, Kyo would join him, helping out as much as possible whenever he could. He overrode Harry's protest by saying that most of the time, Harry _was doing chores. The only time he wasn't was when he was sleeping. This way, they could talk while doing work. And no, it was rude of him to just sit at the sides while Harry did his work._

Harry didn't know what to expect exactly, from this sudden alliance with wizards ("Onmyouji!") from foreign shores. He had thought that they might want to get as much information from him as possible, maybe even having him relive his worst memories of the Triwizard tournament or even the fight in the bowels of the Ministry of Magic.

Kyo did nothing of the sort. The boy liked to chatter about inane things, like how weird and exciting it was, eating Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans (Harry learned then that Kyo had a weakness for chocolates) but he really preferred Chocolate Frogs to that. Kyo was more eager to have Harry explain to him about the wizarding world than hearing about Voldermort. After a week of their acquaintance, Harry finally got up his nerve to invite Kyo into the house. He was careful though to do it when his 'family' was out for the day. Kyo had immediately zoomed over to the picture-laden mantelpiece but was disappointed to find only pictures of the Monster Whale, as he so fondly dubbed Dudley. Harry quite liked the nickname.

Seeing Kyo giggle over the pictures of Dudley, it occurred to Harry that Kyo practically knew everything about him (but then, who didn't? The whole wizarding world knew him, thanks to Rita Skeeter) but he knew practically zilch about his new friend.

"Kyo?" Harry had asked absently, not really paying attention as he fought to wrest a marker pen from Kyo. Kyo wanted to add some decorations to Dudley's birthday picture. While Harry wanted nothing more than to do the same, he knew better. Kyo must have as well as he only put up a cursory struggle.

"Yeah?" Kyo said distractedly. He was scratching his head over the picture of Dudley in a tuxedo. It's not a pretty sight.

"What about your own family? You never told me about them."

The sudden darkening of his eyes and the closed look on his face told Harry all he needed to know.

"My parents died," Kyo smiled briefly. "They died in a fire. . .saving me," the last part said in a quiet voice.

"Oh," Harry said awkwardly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be, it's not your fault," Kyo had replied with a more genuine smile. But after that exchange, Harry could not help but feel closer to Kyo. They both lost their parents and despite the differences of a curse and a fire, their parents died to save them. It's a heavy debt to carry.

Since then, Kyo continued to pop into the house directly from time to time. It proved to be a trial to Harry as Kyo was fond of making the most ridiculous faces whenever the Dursleys were around. Even as he sat quietly at the dinner table, eating his meager portion, he fought to keep a straight face as Kyo mimed Uncle Vernon's daily opinion on the state of the world and how 'worthless scum' like 'you, boy!' made life a whole lot worse.

Harry could remember the first time Uncle Vernon called him that when Kyo was around. His pantomime stopped abruptly as he drew himself into his full height behind Vernon. His anger was as palpable as the darkening sky outside. His normally cheerful face went blank with fury, his eyes shining with some inner light. Harry watched him with wide eyes, afraid and not a little eager to see what Kyo would do though a little part of him hoped nothing would happen. If anything did, he would just get blamed for it.

But thankfully, Kyo did nothing, merely clenching his fists and looking back and forth from Vernon to Harry. Vernon too, must have felt _something_, as he looked over his shoulder and muttered how the storm was giving him the willies. But the next time he repeated his cant on how worthless Harry is, a fork of lightning crashed almost in their backyard, lighting the whole house with an actinic flare followed by the bone-jarring crash of thunder. All of them jumped suddenly in their seats, Harry included and it was only his evident shock that saved Harry from being accused of using his 'blasted. . .thing!'

Later, as he washed the dishes while the Dursleys watched the telly, Harry asked Kyo quietly, "Did you do that?"

Kyo had merely smiled serenely, refusing to answer him. 

Harry sighed soundlessly and rubbed his too dry eyes in heavy weariness. He felt kind of awful. His body ached and his throat was sore. He supposed that the endless housework could be taking its toll on his body. Not surprising really, considering the amount he went through each day. Even with Kyo's help there was too much for him to do. Just today Aunt Petunia had him cleaning the attic for the third time this summer.

Today. He stilled as he realized that today was July 31st. His sixteenth birthday. He hadn't even realized it. Eyes wandering over to the little clock on the table which he had repaired, he could just make out the numbers. It was 11.45 pm. He'll be a year older in 15 minutes. He wondered whether Kyo would wish him happy birthday. He hadn't dropped by today. He felt kind of lonely.

"Psst! Harry!"

Or maybe not.

A smile breaking out on his face, Harry swung his legs to the side of the bed and stumbled his way to the window. The sash was permanently stuck halfway. He couldn't reach through the bars to fix it properly. It was just enough for Hedwig to use and he was happy with that. His snowy owl hooted softly from her cage as a dark outline emerged outside his window. Smile growing wider, Harry fell to his knees and pressed his face as close to the bars as he could. He didn't want Vernon to hear him.

"Kyo," he said gladly. And did a double-take. Kyo was currently floating in mid-air outside his window and Harry doubted he was using a broomstick. He was just floating casually, elbows leaning on the sill. His bright blue eyes were squinted as he peered through the thick iron bars.

"Harry?" he replied softly. "Why the hell do you have bars on your window?" Kyo had yet to see his room, Harry refusing to show it for fear of his reaction and his evidently growing displeasure confirmed that.

"It's nothing," Harry said hastily. "What are you doing here?"

Kyo stared at him silently for a minute before replying. "I thought I'd wish you happy birthday," dropping the subject of bars for the moment. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah, sure!" Harry said brightly. "But how-" Kyo was inside his room the instant he said yes and Harry blinked. He thought the house would surely have anti-apparition barriers at least. "Well, that's settled," he murmured.

Kyo was looking around his room, eyes narrowing further as he took in the bare walls, dilapidated bed and a worn table and chair, highlighted by the spill of silver light from a fat moon. The only furniture in the room. Well, besides Dudley's mounds of broken toys that is.

"So this is your room?" he asked mildly.

"Yeah," Harry replied and his green eyes flashed, challenging Kyo to say anything. Thankfully, Kyo subsided. Instead, spotting Hedwig, his face lit up with pleasure.

"Hello girl," he crooned softly, gently caressing Hedwig's snowy feathers through the cage bars. Hedwig submitted herself gracefully to the petting, golden eyes half-hooded with pleasure as she let out a very soft hoot. She too, knew better than to make more noise than necessary. A last pet, Kyo turned and raised an eyebrow at Harry. He was still sitting bonelessly on the floor underneath the window.

"What on earth are you still doing there?"

Harry shrugged. "I think I might be sick, I can't stand up," he said with a rather humourous smile. Kyo though, didn't find it amusing. Alarmed, he crossed the room quickly, his steps nearly soundless as he dropped down in front of Harry. A cool palm was pressed against his forehead and he leaned gratefully into the touch.

"Damn," Kyo swore underneath his breath. "You've got a high fever. Did your aunt give you any medicine? Never mind," he cut off Harry before he could reply. "I doubt it," he said angrily, giving another sweep of the room.

Oddly enough, Harry felt compelled to defend his aunt. "She didn't know I was sick. I didn't realize it either," he admitted. He had assumed that it was just tiredness and told Kyo that. Oops, bad choice of words as that made the previous narrow-eyed look return.

Keeping his mouth shut, Kyo got his arms around Harry's shoulder and lifted him easily to his feet. Together, they managed to get to the bed with little noise and Harry slid gratefully under the thin sheets. He was starting to feel cold. Kyo fussed over him, clucking a little under his breath on the deplorable state of his non-existent blankets and the too thin mattress. He sounded a bit like a mother hen. He told Kyo that and got a glare in return.

"Well who else do you expect to mother you with family like them?!" he demanded crossly, though still careful to keep his voice low. He tucked the blankets in firmly one last time and stood up with an irritated sigh. "Oh, this is ridiculous!" he said, throwing his hands in the air. Alarmed, as Kyo seemed truly agitated, Harry watched apprehensively, fearing a loud outburst that will surely bring the wrath of Vernon down on his head.

Nothing of that sort happened. Really, he should have known better. He knew that Kyo would not be so careless as to get him in trouble like that. Still, he waited with bated breath and was relieved to see Kyo only reaching into the pocket of his jeans to withdraw a crumpled piece of paper.

"What's that?" he asked timidly, afraid that he'd get Kyo worked up again.

Kyo threw him a crooked grin and waggled his eyebrows comically. "Magic!" he said with due drama. A little hand flourish and the paper flew from his hand to stick almost like a magnet against the door. Another flick and another piece of paper flew to stick crosswise underneath the first one.

"What did you do?" Harry asked, frowning.

Kyo shrugged affably. "Like I said, magic. It's a silencing and repulsion ward. They won't hear a thing and even if they feel like poking their heads in, they'll suddenly feel the need to do something else."

"But won't the Ministry of Magic think I'm the one doing it?" Harry asked anxiously. "I could get expelled!"

"I'm not stupid," Kyo rolled his eyes. "I drew the magic I needed from the wards that already surround this house. They won't notice a thing."

"Oh." Harry subsided and watched avidly as Kyo took another piece of paper and began, what it looked like to Harry, doing origami. He had seen it on the telly once. Kyo's fingers flew deftly and within seconds, a paper bird rested delicately in his palm.

"Be amazed," Kyo gave him a wink and breathed lightly on the paper bird. There was a slight blurring of the air around it and where there was once a paper bird, a real live one replaced it. Harry could feel his mouth dropping open. It was almost like transfiguration but not. The bird wasn't anything that already existed. A pure white, it had the delicate structure of a dove, with a long, three-forked tail that waved dreamily in the air, almost like Fawkes'. Intelligent eyes blinked slowly as Kyo brought the bird near his mouth and whispered into its ear. When Kyo finished, the bird gave a soft trill and flew away, straight through the wall. Harry's mouth dropped open further.

"Wow," he breathed. "What was that?"

"A tracker. We use it for messages sometimes, kinda like your owl post."

"Wow," Harry repeated again and the last part sank in. "Wait, messages?" he drew up in panic. "Who are you calling? What are-"

Kyo shushed him, pushing him down gently until he was again lying down. His effort was made easier as the sudden move gave Harry a bad case of vertigo. Head swirling crazily, Harry doggedly insisted knowing who was it that Kyo sent a message to. Kyo huffed, placing his hands on his waist.

"I sent a message to my friend," he said patiently. "He's a doctor. He can make sure that this is just a fever and won't get worse. Besides, I told him to get some stuff I think you'll need," Kyo finished absently as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind Harry's ear and took off his glasses, putting them down gently on the table.

Harry flushed slightly, partly from embarrassment at being treated like a young child and partly from pleasure, at being treated like a young child. This was different from the patronizing air that Madam Pomfrey had most times. This felt more like what a caring hug from Mrs. Weasley would feel. A mother's touch. And Harry had to roll his eyes at that. Kyo was a guy. How could he be motherly?

But as Kyo hummed softly beneath his breath, hand brushing back his fringe repeatedly, gently, almost lulling him to sleep, Harry could believe that it was a motherly caress. He felt his eyelids grew heavier, head lolling to the side where Kyo sat, his weight sagging the mattress to the right. He didn't know how long he stayed in that drowsy slumber but all too soon, a cough alerted him to the new presence in his room.

Eyes flying open, it was Kyo's restraining hand on his shoulder that stopped him from experiencing another gut-wrenching episode of vertigo.

"It's alright," Kyo said soothingly. "This is the friend I told you about. His name is Takashi Matsumada. Just call him Takashi."

The man called Takashi stood by his bedside, offering him a cheerful smile. He was tall, as tall or a bit more than Kyo probably with dark hair that a chance gleam of moonlight revealed to be a dark russet hue. He extended a hand in greeting, saying in a low voice, "Hi, sorry to drop in like this. I'm Takashi."

Harry took the proffered hand, shaking it weakly. His own was grasped in Takashi's large, cool one and he let out a gasp as he felt something passed between them from that touch. Something that was cool and silky that slid under his skin to shoot straight to his aching head. Amazingly, whatever it was, it made the pounding in his head lessen.

"You're a wizard too?" Harry said stupidly.

Kyo huffed again and Takashi chuckled. "You could say that. Do you feel a bit better?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded slowly. "My head doesn't hurt that badly now."

"Good," Takashi replied, looking pleased. "That means it really is just a fever."

Kyo explained to Harry, "Takashi has a high level of healing magic, one of the highest among us."

"Oh," Harry said, feeling not a little stupid for not having anything to say but 'oh'. But they didn't mind though. Kyo got up from his perch on his bedside and Takashi took his place. He gently cradled Harry's shoulder and Harry stiffened in alarm.

"Wh-what are you doing?" Harry stammered.

"For my healing to work, it's better if I have a close contact with you," Takashi explained patiently. "May I?"

Harry was having a hard time though, trying to let his guard down. He had never been much for touches, generally accepting them from only the people he knew. This Takashi he had barely met for five minutes and already he was in a more intimate position than even Ron had been with him.

"Harry," Takashi's low voice broke his frenetic worrying. "Do you trust Kyo?"

Harry nodded slowly. Of course he did. He didn't know why or how exactly as they had only been friends for a little over three weeks but he did. He felt safe with Kyo. So if he trusts Kyo. . .then. . .slowly, Harry let the stiffness flow from his body and sagged gradually against Takashi. Takashi caught him in his arms and cushioned Harry's head against his chest. Face turned to the side, Harry caught the low, steady beating of Takashi's heart and amazingly, that sound relaxed him further. He relaxed even more when Takashi took up the caressing that Kyo did earlier, his hand as cool and comforting as Kyo's, brushing back his hair repeatedly as he hummed underneath his breath. The song he was humming sounded exactly like Kyo's as well.

From the sudden, added sagging to his mattress, he guessed that Kyo now sat on the bed as well. He couldn't really tell as his eyes had fallen close with the humming and caressing and it felt too heavy and bothersome for him to open them. It was confirmed though, when he felt a pressure against his back. Kyo had placed his hand there and was running gentle circles over his back, his own humming added to Takashi's.

He was sure, if Hermione or Ron was here to witness this, they'd be gaping. Here he was, on his bed in the middle of the night with two guys (one whom he only met three weeks ago and the other just a few minutes) and they were cradling him like they would their child, stroking his hair and back and humming him a lullaby. Yes, they were humming him a lullaby. He ought to feel insulted about that. He was a teenager after all. But the feeling of comfort. . .of rightness was just so perfect that Harry didn't want to spoil it.

So he submitted himself to their embrace and sleep came for the first time ever this summer in a cloak of soothing peace. As he fell deeper into slumber, he heard a soft whisper, from whom he wasn't sure.

"Happy birthday, Harry."

________________________________________________________________________

Morning broke over Privet Drive with all of its indifferent bluster. Birds trilled sweet song from outside the window, the lone occupant on the bed not even stirring with the noise. The other two in the room, standing off in a corner were silent, keeping wary vigil. Not a moment later, the door was rapped upon sharply, the knocks like bursts of gunfire that shattered the morning's peace.

"Boy!" A shrill voice penetrated the rapping. "Wake up! Now!"

No answer from the sleeping figure. Harry didn't even twitch, an anomaly by itself as Harry was a very light sleeper. Aunt Petunia seemed to realize this as well as the door swung open, herself standing in the doorway with arms crossed and foot tapping.

"Boy!" she called sharply. Still no answer. Finally looking somewhat alarmed, she crossed the threadbare room to the bed. Her mouth was pinched in a tight line, disgust souring her already sour face as she tentatively shook Harry's shoulder, looking as though even with that minimal contact, she was liable to be infected with some dreadful disease. When Harry still failed to wake, she squared her thin shoulders and placed the back of her palm against his forehead. It was snatched back quickly and she scowled upon the unaware boy.

"Of all the times to get sick!" she declared vehemently and straightened, mouth pinching into an even thinner line. "Fine!" she snapped, not caring that Harry wouldn't even be able to hear her, lost as he was to the world. "I'll give you this one day! You better be up by tomorrow or you'll hear from Vernon!"

With a huff, she tossed her head back and strode out of the room, the door banging and locked shut behind her.

Silence, blessed gift, descended back on to the room. The birds outside had fallen silent with Aunt Petunia's shrill voice but now began to chirp again. One of the two stirred from the corner and shook his head in disbelief.

"And she calls herself his _aunt?" Takashi said incredulously. He was careful to keep his voice low, the wards pulled down earlier when morning came. They had stayed by Harry's side all last night, helping him heal in slow degrees. They didn't dare to heal him outright, fearing some sort of reaction from the different type of magic Harry was used to or even an 'allergic' reaction to the protective magic they could sense deep within Harry. His fever had fluctuated last night, sending him into shivery chills and moaning high temperatures. It had steadied out a bit this morning but they had to stop, to allow his Aunt Petunia to witness for herself that he was sick._

Now that his 'family' had been taken care of, Kyo putting up another repulsion ward just in case, Takashi quickly made his way back to Harry's side and cradled him again. Harry leaned into the embrace instinctively even in sleep and Takashi couldn't help the little smile that crossed his face.

"Believe me," Kyo snorted quietly, "That's their usual attitude with him. Vernon's worse though. He tends to get physical."

"How physical?" Takashi asked sharply. As though sensing his distress, Harry stirred fitfully in his arms until Takashi soothed him with a quiet touch.

"Nothing on that scale," Kyo admitted. "Just some heavy slaps, even a punch or two. At least, the ones I saw. Harry could usually dodge the worse of them but sometimes, he tends to drift and he won't see it coming."

Takashi fell silent, his hand stroking Harry's messy hair absently. He broke his own silence later with a quiet question.

"And they expect him to save the world?" His hand stilled, covering the lightning-bolt scar and Kyo placed his hand over his. Kyo shrugged helplessly.

"Damn humans," Takashi swore in a furious whisper. "_Damn _humans."

________________________________________________________________________

When Harry woke up, it was nighttime. A little disoriented, his last memory before sleep claimed him of gentle hands and soft lullabies, Harry fumbled around for his glasses. He found them, along with a note under it. Pulling his glasses on, Harry blinked rapidly, trying to get his eyes to focus. A jaw-popping yawn had them watering and Harry took the moment to stretch his body. Whatever Kyo and Takashi did, he had to thank them. He never felt this good before.

Still blinking away the tears, Harry brought the note closer to his face, tilting it to catch the ray of moonlight that came in.

The note was penned in a mix of two styles, the first in a cursive script.

_Harry, (it began)_

_By the time you're reading this, you should be asleep for a whole day already. Don't worry about your family though. Your aunt came in, realized you weren't feeling well and she told your unconscious body that you better be up and about by tomorrow._

_Bloody Broomstick._

Harry let out a soft chuckle. Bloody Broomstick was Kyo's nickname for Aunt Petunia. After that, the writing changed to a firmer one. Takashi's this time.

_I apologise on Kyo's behalf. But I happen to totally agree with him. Besides that, I hope you are feeling better. We got you some stuff to make sure you don't fall sick again. Look under your bed._

Harry did, kneeling on the floor and peering underneath his bed. He found a brown box and pulled it out. It was heavy and Harry had to strain a bit to get it out. Looking in, he saw four wrapped parcels in familiar writing. His heart did a little dance and he quickly read the note again.

_You were dead to the world already when the owls came so we relieved them of their packages. That little owl was quite a handful. Your own lovely lady Hedwig didn't seem to like the little critter much. Unfortunately, I think it likes Kyo. And vice versa. God help us._

The writing changed again.

_I resent that._

And back to Takashi.

_Anyway! You'll find under the packages some things we got for you. _

Harry took out the birthday gifts his friends and Remus Lupin sent, setting them aside to be opened at leisure later. He gaped. The box was chock full with food. Not the cakes and sweets that the Weasleys would usually send or even Hermione and her sugar-free gum, but real food. Tins of sardines, pineapples, tuna, vegetables, all sorts were crammed in and gleaming brightly in a chance caught light was even a tin opener. On top of that, there were two loaves of bread, cups of instant noodles and milk drink packets. He counted over a dozen.

More than a little stunned, and a bit embarrassed, Harry read the note through.

_This is not charity. Look at it as your prescription medicine. But you better thank me. If I hadn't put my foot down, you'd get at least half of it chocolates instead of real food._

And Kyo put in his say;

_I still resent that. Chocolate is the missing fifth group. Everyone knows that!_

_Yes, people like. . .oh, I don't know. . .you and you maybe?_

_Prat__.___

_And we all learn a new British slang for the day. But you're not reading this to hear (read?) us insult each other, right Harry? Be sure to eat the food and get as much rest as you can. Oh yes, you'll also find a blanket inside somewhere. That's all from me now. Take care, you hear?_

_Finally I get to say something. Harry, my friend, I'll be by to check on you later tomorrow. We both fully expect to find AT LEAST a quarter of the food gone (and the dustbin doesn't count). Enjoy your presents. You seem to have great friends._

_Chocolately__ yours,_

_Kyo & Takashi (he wrote that, not me)_

_PS: We have a surprise gift for you but we can't give it to you now. You have to wait until Hogwarts open. But we think you'll like it._

_PPS: Finish the food!_

Harry couldn't help the large grin that threatened to split his face. That note had done more to cheer him up than any present he had yet to open. Yes, he had great friends; Ron, Hermione, Professor Lupin. . .and now he was able to add two more to that list.

                                                                                        *************

**                                                                                        to be continued**

                                                                                        *************

**_A/N: __That was just so. . .sweet! (And I wrote it. . .) Ah! I feel that Harry is in need of a little loving, after everything that happened. People don't seem to realize that he needs familial affection as well as a girlfriend. I mean, the poor kid's suffered enough! Do they want him to turn into another Voldermort?! Damn Dumbledore for leaving him with the Dursleys, even till now!_**

_And for you who were thinking queer thoughts about the whole Takashi x Kyo x Harry thing earlier. . .get your minds out of the gutter! They so do not feel like that for each other! Keep in mind that in real years, Takashi is already over 50 years old while Kyo is over 33. As Shinigami, they can't have children. . .and you know that to fulfill a love as wonderful as theirs, a child is the missing piece. . .but. . .will they adopt Harry?_

_I have no idea. . .maybe I'll turn it into a poll at my Yahoo!Group. Have you signed up for it yet? Do! It's groups.yahoo.com/group/shadowsofthefox. You'll get scenes there that you will probably never see anywhere else. Just backtrack through the old messages titled "Sneak Previews!" if you don't believe me! Till the next chapter, review! Jaa!_


	5. Chapter 5:Death comes to Hogwarts Litera...

**When Death Comes A'Knocking**

**Chapter Five: Death comes to Hogwarts (Literally)**

_A story by Shiozaki@ Kyo-kun_

**_Summary: __A crossover with my _****End of the Worlds Shinigami and ****Harry Potter. The British Shinigami are in a heap of trouble and ask our heroes for help. This is a 6th year fic and my own take on the secret of the Prophecy and why Harry is Harry.**

**_Plot-Mistresses: __Shiozaki__ & Shaynie_**

**_Spell-maker: __Literary Eagle_**

**_Warning:__ No action as of yet. Patience, young Jedi!_**

****

**_*cough* I had to change my nick again coz a friend of mine was about to discover me on FF.net. . . .*cough* yes, I keep my existence as "Shiozaki/Kyo-kun" separate from my real life. . . ._**

****

_Dedicated to Hitomi-san and magicknight:  On the breath of an angel, may our sorrows fly_

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For once, after almost a week of scudding grey clouds and cold winds, the night sky was a velvety black punched through with frosted stars. Visibility was unhampered tonight and Kyo inhaled the crisp, rapidly cooling air gratefully. He missed Meifu. Though Britain's own Realm of the Dead was almost similar to theirs, with eternal sakura year round, it wasn't the same. There was no Tatsumi to berate Tsuzuki for his overspending, no Gushoushin to screech righteous indignation at Terazuma and Tsuzuki for once again, managing to destroy the library. Kyo had to crack a grin at that. Seems like most of the excitement back home tend to centre on the purple-eyed Shinigami.

Tsuzuki and Hisoka had taken some time to settle down in the new Land of the Dead. The culture difference, the new language (despite the charm's help, they still had to contend with the locals' accent. Cockney never was easy to decipher) were just some of the obstacles they had to cross. It was easier for Kyo and Takashi. They had fitted in almost as if they _were British and cheerfully helped their colleagues get the hang of british telly and fish and chips._

Kyo shifted slightly, trying to find a more comfortable spot and froze when the roof tiles he sat on crunched inaudibly. For a long minute, he was a frozen statue, afraid that he was found out but no such sound of discovery was made. Kyo knew he was taking a risk, being here but he felt strangely compelled to do so. Takashi as well but that didn't really surprise the two of them. What one felt, the other did as well. In fact, Takashi more often than not, accompanied his silent vigil here on the rooftops.

"Kyo?"

Kyo jumped, cursing softly as the tiles creaked again but again, the occupants of the house whose roof he appropriated was unaware of their night time visitor.

"Hisoka?" Kyo blinked, careful to keep his voice low. "What are you doing here?"

Hisoka smiled, sitting down carefully next to Kyo. He folded his jean-clad legs under him and tugged his jacket closer around his slight form. "Just thought I'd keep you company, since Takashi couldn't," he said casually. "Where is he by the way?"

Kyo snorted, a mild expression of disgust crossing his face. "Fudge wanted to see him. Something about last minute details he needed to iron out before we go to Hogwarts."

The boy chuckled softly. Kyo's dislike of Fudge was no surprise as he had made no effort to hide it since day one. The only concession he had allowed was the bare minimum of manners. Usually, he would just let the others deal with Fudge.

"What about you?" Kyo countered back good-naturedly. "I thought you'd be cuddling up in bed with Tsuzuki by now."

Years of Kyo and Takashi tolerance had allowed Hisoka to deal with this kind of jibes with just the barest trace of a blush. That was usually the extent the couple would go. The _really _embarrassing teasing they'd save for days when their own hormones tended to go into overload. "Tsuzuki's making good use of the stipend Fudge gave us," Hisoka smiled.

"Oh?" Kyo raised an eyebrow.

Hisoka smirked. "He's just finished raiding the whole of Oxford Circus for the best sweets and chocolates he could get his grubby paws on."

"Oh dear," Kyo said with a perfectly straight face. "No wonder Fudge's been looking a bit off-colour lately."

"I'd hate to see what kind of colour he'd get when Tsuzuki gets to Hogsmeade."

"That wizarding village near Hogwarts?"

Hisoka nodded. "Heh," Kyo smirked. "Serves him right."

They subsided into silence after a good chuckle at that. Once again, the peace of the sleeping suburb regained its hold and Kyo submerged himself into that waiting stillness years of kendo had taught him. Hisoka by his side had done the same and they waited out their vigil in companiable silence. It wasn't by random that Kyo had picked out this certain roof to make his perch. No, this one storey brick house was picked because it was situated exactly behind Number Four, Privet Drive. Their current spot on the roof gave them an excellent view onto the smallest bedroom of that house. Which is probably why currently, several wizards and witches of the Order of the Phoenix had chosen that same house as well. Only, they had the more comfortable option of actually using the house. The owner had won first prize for a cruise to the Caribbean, Kyo had heard.

Kyo knew Harry was aware that he was kept under constant watch by the Order. But what Harry didn't know, was the _extent _of the watch they kept. At least one wizard or witch at all times, as well as additional surveillance by the Shinigami. This the Shinigami had done voluntarily, put forth by Kyo and enthusiastically supported by Takashi as well. Tsuzuki and Hisoka had gone along with it but Kyo and Takashi inevitably got the bulk of the job. Mainly because they insisted.

Harry's birthday had passed a week ago and true to their word, Kyo and Takashi had stopped by frequently, making sure that Harry used the contents of the box they left behind. It had taken Harry a few awkward moments before he was actually comfortable with having Takashi around. But then, Takashi wasn't gifted with that easy, genuine smile for nothing. It was during one of their get-togethers that Harry had received his OWL results, which he had taken the time to explain the bemused Shinigami. Harry had 6 OWLs, out of the six, only Potions and Divinations had he gotten a mere 'Exceed Expectations'. Harry was particularly disappointed, but not exactly surprised. This, he had told Kyo and Takashi glumly, totally blew his chance of becoming an Auror after graduating since he needed Potions to qualify and Snape refused to accept anyone below 'Outstanding'.

Hisoka and Kyo sat in companiable silence even as the house beneath them creaked and groaned with discreet life. The current occupants of Number 12 Black Boy Lane had no wish to be known _as _the occupants of Number 12. Kyo sat with his knees drawn up, arms hugging himself with his eyes half-lidded. He sat so still, he might have been a statue were it not for the gentle rise and fall of his breathing.

"Hey, Kyo?" Hisoka decided to break the silence.

"Mmm?"

"You really like Harry don't you?"

Kyo blinked. "I happen to love Takashi very much, thanks."

Hisoka sighed and swatted Kyo's shoulder lightly. "Not like that you idiot. Just like as in. . .you, know, like."

Head tilted to the side, Kyo seem to give his question serious regard. His light blue eyes twinkled in chance-caught light, flashing a brilliant white silver for a brief moment. Hisoka shivered.

"I guess I really do like Harry," Kyo said slowly. "Takashi does as well," he offered. "I guess. . . .we've been married for nearly thirty years. . . .we never really talked about it but I know Takashi would love to have a child of his own. So would I," Kyo added wistfully.

Hisoka managed to contain the wince that remark caused. While Kyo and Takashi might not recall a particular set of memories that spanned over 20 years, certain other individuals did. And with it came the painfully sharp and bright memory of a Death Seal imprinted forever more on his soul. His, Tsuzuki's, Watari's, Tatsumi's and Kacho's. The wistfulness in Kyo's tone tugged a corresponding sympathy in him and the Death Seal flared against the back of his eyelids in needless reminder.

_Let them remember not._

". . .Hisoka?"

With a start, Hisoka realized that Kyo must have went on and caught as he was in the midst of an activated Seal, he must have seemed more than a little bit distracted.

"Ah, nothing," Hisoka shook his head, trying to clear away the afterimages of the Seal. "You were saying?"

Kyo looked at him oddly but acquiesced with the question anyway. He shrugged lightly. "I was asking you whether or not you and Tsuzuki ever thought about having a child of your own." He looked away.

Hisoka was glad for that small measure of privacy given. The topic of children was largely ignored between Hisoka and his partner. They had talked of it, yes, but. . . .

"Tsuzuki and I are too screwed up to have children," Hisoka said softly. "We have no right to impose our demons upon any child."

Thankfully, Kyo did not respond to that. He continued looking out over the line of rooftops in Little Whinging, Surrey and long minutes were spent just sitting in silence. 

It must have been around 3 am, a couple of hours since he came when Hisoka finally stirred. He got to his feet carefully, Kyo shooting him an inquiring look. He was about to answer when Kyo froze, eyes widening. Fast as a snake, he plunged his hand into a pocket and withdrew an ofuda. The paper was glowing a faint blue, whispers of sound emanating from the activated spellcraft. Hisoka knew the Sanskrit wordings used. It was a spell of guard and watch. Somewhere, a companion piece was hung and the two talismans acted as a walkie-talkie of sorts. Should any form of disturbance arose from the other end, its corresponding piece would give warning, much like what Kyo's was doing now.

Kyo got to his feet as well, quick and light as a cat. Both stilled then, head cocked to the side and they both heard the occupants of Number 12 stirring themselves as well.

"They're going to detect it soon as well," Kyo whispered. "Can you take care of them for me?"

At Hisoka's quick nod, Kyo flashed a brief smile and was gone in the blink of an eye. Knowing that Kyo had materialised, or rather, 'apparated' as the lingo was here, straight into Harry's small bedroom, Hisoka wasted no time. He jumped off the roof, body hanging effortlessly in midair right beside the window that faced Number 4, Privet Drive. Reaching for his own talismans, Hisoka peeled off the one he needed and quickly stuck it on to the wall next to the window. Another ward followed it, forming an 'X' while another was placed vertically next to the 'X'. Satisfied, for now the wards would effectively block any outgoing magic within a radius of 15 feet, thus protecting Harry's night time visitor from discovery, Hisoka rose steadily in the air and sat back down on the roof.

He wanted to be there in case Kyo needed him for something else.

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"Shh, it's alright," Kyo whispered. "I'm here. You're safe. Shh."

Kyo sat backed up to the head of the bed, legs stretched out before him. In his lap, a bundle of awkward limbs and mirroring his black hair was Harry. The warning that the wards gave turned out to be of Harry's own making. Deep in the throes of a nightmare, the ward had reacted with sympathetic magic. It was a specialized ward, made for Kyo by Hisoka himself who had attuned the talisman to signs of distress using his own empathic skills.

'Apparating' into Harry's bedroom, he found the boy trashing wildly in bed, half-formed cries breaking the stillness of the room. Kyo knew if it went on any longer, Vernon was sure to wake up and Harry's own awakening would be unpleasant to say the least. Kyo did what was instinctive to him and Takashi when each found the other lost in unpleasant memories. Cimbing into the narrow bed, the broken springs barely creaking, Kyo gathered Harry's still-flailing limbs tenderly, gathered into one ball of hurt. Backed into the wall as support, he contained the trashing within the circle of his arms and the soothing tone of his voice.

It took time, time that Kyo was aware took uncomfortably long. Not for him, but for Harry himself. How vicious was the nightmare that Harry could not shake it off as quickly as possible? Luckily for him, foresight had prompted him to gift Harry with his own stock of silencing wards. Placed strategically behind a pile of broken toy soldiers, the wards ensured that none but the loudest scream could break through.

Kyo grimaced as a well-placed, if unintentional, blow knocked the breath out of him. Light as a bird and as swift, Harry could still pack a mean punch.

"Right," Kyo announced to the room at large. "This has gone too far."

He meant of course, the fact that if anything, Harry's struggles were getting wilder and that his lightning bolt scar was seeping a trickle of blood. The punches and kicks he could ignore. One does not become a Shinigami for over 30 years and not learn to roll with the pain so to speak. Gripping his bundle tighter with one arm, he raised the other and muttered a quick apology.

"Gomen ne," Kyo lapsed unconsciously into Japanese and gave Harry a sharp slap.

Of course, it wasn't a normal slap. Focusing his control over Air as the palm of his hand met Harry's still smooth cheek, the Air he summoned as well _yanked Harry out of the nightmare. Air was the usual medium of spells and magic, passing from invisible particles to the next, charging the atoms with quick vibrancy. With his control over the element, he targeted the whirling tight vortex that he could __see was Harry's nightmare and basically, slapped it silly. It was a skill he didn't use often, mainly on Takashi if any and the only regret he had with it was that he couldn't use it on himself when he was plagued with bothersome, formless nightmares. That, and the raging headache that never failed to show up afterwards._

In his embrace, Harry gave a last gasp, body going so rigid Kyo was afraid that he would break a bone before letting out a shuddering breath and sagging limply.

"Hey," Kyo smiled. "Welcome back," he said softly.

Huge green eyes blinked dazedly. Eyes that were so much like Hisoka's but not. Hisoka's was a green vibrant with dark shadows and as opaque as mist. Harry's was still a clear shade that showed every play of emotion despite the darkness that crept in ever so slowly at the edges. Kyo's heart ached for that. No child should have so much torment so young. It was hard enough seeing it in Hisoka, but it was harder to see in a mortal. Never mind that Fate had decreed this one mortal special above the rest. Being singled out by Fate tended to carry heavy burdens with it.

"Kyo?" Harry croaked out. His eyes were still blurred with sleep and remembered pain.

"It's me," Kyo affirmed reassuringly. Harry gave a little shudder, his hands curling tight and clinging desperately to the front of his shirt. His knuckles were straining white with pressure and Kyo rocked him back and forth gently as he hummed a soft song. An endless moment later, when Harry had stopped shivering, Kyo extracted himself from the embrace gently, promising to be back before Harry knew it. Sure enough, a few seconds later he popped back in with a glass of water in his hand. Harry only needed help to hold the glass steady before he was downing the water in great gulps.

Taking advantage of Harry's relief as his parched throat was soothed, Kyo took out a white handkerchief from a pocket and swiped gently, drying the sweat beading Harry's forehead. With it, came the spots of blood. 

Kneeling by the bed, Harry stilled like a deer caught in the headlights of an onrushing car as his eyes fell on the marred cloth that Kyo was studying intently.

"Harry?" Kyo was careful to keep his voice gentle, to stay where he was and not make any sudden moves.

Harry shuddered briefly, bruised eyes closing in weary defeat. In tones just as bruised as the rest of him, Harry told him about the failed curse and the connection it forged. He told also of the blood forcibly taken and the nights spent with a hated professor as he tried to learn to shield his mind from his mortal enemy. He told also, how stubbornness and blind hatred had the lessons stopped and how ultimately, it brought his godfather's death. It took a few tries, and patient silence from Kyo before Harry could talk about the time when Voldermort possessed him completely and his only wish was to die. Die and have the pain disappear.

By the end of it, Harry's throat was clogged tight with tears he refused to shed. Why should he? He learned to get by all these years without anyone's help, why should he break down now? Besides, he didn't have the right of such luxury. His very existence had caused _deaths_. He was a murderer. His hands were stained with blood. His parents, Quirrell, Cedric's, Sirius. . . .how many more?

But he didn't say any of these out loud. He didn't want Kyo to turn away from him. If he could not cry, then he could at least beg for the comfort of another's warm touch. It was more than he deserved but he was so tired. . . .

Tired of fighting the memories, the dreams and the ceaseless whispers that told him to give up.

"What did you see tonight Harry?" Kyo asked finally.

Harry averted his eyes from Kyo's, unable to face the light blue that was so like Dumbledore's but not. In brief, disjointed whispers, he told of the murders he saw earlier. Voldermort had attacked a small muggle village. They didn't have a chance. Women and children were slain brutally and men died screaming as their families died in front of them. That was the Reader's Digest version he gave to Kyo. What he left out were the shrieks as women as children alike were brutally raped and men were reduced to twitching masses of limbs as they were dissected with all the precision of surgeons.

He may have left some salient parts out of his vision, but the look on Kyo's face led him to believe that the older boy knew there was more than he had let on. But Kyo had never been accused of tactlessness. Setting aside the empty glass which Harry twirled agitatedly in his hands, Kyo sat at the edge of the bed, once again gathering an unresisting Harry into his arms. Barely half an hour later, Harry was already deeply asleep. Despite the throbbing that had started already deep behind his eyes, Kyo took the time to weave a spell, one that could grant Harry a night of peaceful sleep.

A last look of the sleeping boy, tucked underneath the blankets, Kyo disappeared, only to reappear a moment later next to Hisoka.

"How is he?" Hisoka asked softly.

Kyo grimaced briefly. "He had one of those visions Ami told us about." He paused, then went on. "He saw a village attacked tonight. Over a hundred people dead or dying."

The two Shinigami shared a tense silence. If there was one thing they could not understand, despite the 'immortality' that was granted upon them, was how _anyone could callously take the life of another. A lone individual, a serial killer, a mad rapist. . .these were understandable kinks in life. But a whole group, acting together under a leader to bring death and destruction upon those who were too young to understand the horror they faced?_

Kyo took a deep breath, releasing it in a shuddering gasp. He pressed the heel of his palm over his eyes, trying to will away the pain that was building. His hand felt too hot on his skin and his eyeballs burned in their sockets. A brief touch at his elbow, followed by the acerbic tones of an irate Hisoka.

"You used an Air spell didn't you?" he asked, exasperated.

Kyo grunted in response.

Hisoka sighed. "I'd say serves you right but since you helped Harry. . .c'mon, Takashi would kill me if I keep you out here any longer."

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"But-" Harry pleaded desperately, "Uncle Vernon! I'll be late for the train! It leaves at 11 exactly!"

"Do I look like I care boy?" Vernon snarled, spit flying every which way as his face purpled in his indignation. With Harry already waiting by the doorstep, he gave a mighty shove to the nearest end of Harry's trunk and Harry had to stumble back before his toes were crushed. "We've helped you enough already! Dudley wants to visit a Smeltings friend first before classes start and we're sending him straight off to Tottenham! We have no time to waste on _you!"_

"But-!"

"Do you want me to convince you?" Vernon's threat, delivered in a quiet, deadly voice shut him up. Face pale, Harry shook his head and caught the flung cage which contained Hedwig. His snowy owl screeched indignantly at the rough treatment and Harry quickly shushed her, before Vernon got really irritated.

He needn't have worried. Without a last look, the door was slammed shut, leaving Harry very forlorn and miserable on the doorstep. September 1st had not come soon enough for Harry, despite having Kyo, and now Takashi as well to keep him company. Much as he liked the two, he missed the old, drafty castle that was his first real home. He missed Ron and Hermione as well. Their letters had seemed a bit odd and stilted lately. He supposed that the events of fifth year must be troubling them as well. Merlin knows the nightmares _he had to put up with._

But, unlike the summers before, he did not have Vernon or even the Weasleys to send him to King's Cross. So now Harry was stranded, with no transportation and the train leaving Platform 9 ¾ in little less than two hours. A taxi isn't an option. His muggle money had run out as he hadn't been able to get to Diagon Alley this summer. His potions stock was already running low and he dreaded what Snape would say to that. He dearly hoped that Hermione or Ron could help him out later. That is, if he ever get _to Hogwarts in the first place._

"Oh my, what do we have here?"

"He seems to be in a spot of trouble, don't you think?"

"Quite, quite. Hello there lad. Need a ride?"

Harry spun around, astonished. Hedwig squawked at being jostled again. "Kyo! Takashi!"

"Why, he knows our name!"

"A delightful boy! Shall we help him out?"

"Do, lets."

Harry groaned and rolled his eyes. "You guys," he complained halfheartedly. "Cut it out."

Kyo and Takashi, clad in jeans, jackets and t-shirts, grinned unashamedly at him from the sidewalk. Harry was more than a little surprised to see them. They knew that he was leaving today but had not mentioned whether they'll be seeing him off. Harry hadn't been able to bring himself up to ask. He hadn't wanted to sound desperate.

"He tells us to cut it out," Kyo said mournfully, hand over heart. "Here we are, good Samaritans and he tells us to cut it out."

"Are you feeling wounded Kyo?" Takashi grinned.

"I'm feeling wounded indeed, Takashi."

"That's teenagers for you."

And together, they said, "Kids!" and cracked up with laughter.

Harry couldn't help it. He cracked a smile as well and instead pointed out, "So are you going to help me?"

Kyo wiped away the tears of laughter from the corners of his eyes and flung the gate open. Takashi followed him in and the both of them took up his trunk easily, despite his protest that he could do it himself. Ignoring his blushing, Kyo and Takashi maneuvered the heavy trunk out to the sidewalk, chattering what seemed to Harry, a rather insane conversation on the relative merits of ice-cream and spaghetti. They, followed by Harry who jogged lightly to keep up with Hedwig bouncing along resignedly in her cage, made their way to the corner of Privet Drive and Black Boy Lane. Stopping at the kerb, they set the trunk down and went on arguing about how chocolate brownie fudge ice cream was so much better than plain vanilla pecan.

"Er. . ." Harry dared to interrupt. "Er. . .guys?"

They went on arguing.

"Guys. . . .guys!"

Takashi and Kyo jumped and both flashed him a smile. "Sorry about that," Takashi said easily. "You said something?"

Harry nodded and gestured vaguely at the trunk and Hedwig's cage. "How are we getting to the station? I'm going to be late if we don't go soon," he finished anxiously.

"Your ride is here already sir," Kyo replied with a florid bow. True enough, a taxi pulled up to the kerb, the muggle kind, and the driver jumped out. Cap tipped in salute, the cheerful man greeted Kyo and Takashi and helped with the trunk. The boot closed securely, Takashi sat at the front with the driver while Kyo and Harry took over the backseat. Harry set Hedwig's cage securely against the car door and they were off.

The journey was rather quiet, Takashi chatting with the driver up front while the radio played some light tunes. Kyo himself was silent, having taken Hedwig's cage and opening the door to stroke her soft feathers. Hedwig seemed to appreciate the attention and hooted to show it. Harry, feeling suddenly nervous (it still took him some time to accept the fact that there are people who were nice and willing to help _other _people), nudged Kyo's side gently.

"Kyo?" he said in a low voice.

Kyo turned to him, crooked half-smile in place. He didn't stop his caressing of Hedwig as he replied, "Yes?"

"Is this," he gestured vaguely again (he's been doing that a lot with these two), "the surprise you mentioned?" and flushed with embarrassment.

Kyo raised a black eyebrow in mild astonishment. "You think this is the birthday present we meant? Surely you jest, young sir!"

Harry flushed deeper, shaking his head. "Stop that! You're just teasing me!"

"Of course I am," Kyo said blandly, then laughed, though not unkindly at Harry's attempt to frown despite his still prevalent embarrassment. "No, this isn't it. We really did mean to send you off today and we accidentally heard your uncle made a fuss. So Takashi got a taxi for us."

"Oh." Harry leaned back against the leather seat, thumbs twiddling and looked at anywhere but Kyo. "Thanks," he said past the lump in his throat.

"You're welcome," Kyo said gravely. The rest of the ride was made in silence, though not an uncomfortable one. They reached King's Cross with fifteen minutes to spare, Takashi paying the driver while assuring Harry that there was no debt. Taking a trolley, they got Harry's trunk loaded and Hedwig's cage perched on top of it and set off among the busy bustle of commuters thronging past. Harry was pushing the handle of the trolley, though Kyo was helping at the side as well. Takashi was at his other and Harry couldn't help but note that even though they were chatting and smiling, there was a certain wariness to their posture. Their hands never strayed far from their pockets where he knew they kept their stash of paper talisman, or ofuda as they called it.

Interestingly enough, the people that they pass would let their eyes slid over Harry, his trolley and would totally ignore the two by his side.

"Are you guys invisible again?" Harry asked quietly as they made way for an elderly couple.

Takashi threw him an admiring look. "Very observant, aren't you? Yes, we are. Ah, here it is."

They had come to the barrier between Platform 9 and 10 and sure enough, there was a gaggle of people waiting to inconspicuously push through solid wall to emerge at the other side and on to Platform 9 ¾ . Takashi, Kyo and Harry stopped before the edge of the crowd, melting into the shadows. At least, Kyo and Takashi did. Harry tried to look as innocent as possible while appearing to talk to empty air.

"You have everything?" Takashi asked, a concerned frown on his face.

"Yeah," Harry nodded, patting his pockets. "I got my Galleons, trunk and Hedwig. I'm all set." He looked expectantly at Kyo.

Kyo merely smiled and stepped forwards to sweep Harry into a brief hug. Harry squeaked in surprise and managed to not blush as Takashi did the same.

"Your present will be waiting for you at Hogwarts," was all Kyo said and refused to divulge more. Resigned that he was not going to get anything else from the two of them, Harry waved goodbye. But before he could turn, Takashi had caught his arm gently.

"Takashi?" he asked.

In answer, Takashi took out a couple of ofuda and pressed them into Harry's hands. "These are the ones we use for messages and tracking. We've made them so that all you have to do is write my name or Kyo's, breath on it and the spell will activate. The tracker will be able to find us anywhere, anytime. If you're in trouble or need our help, use it, alright?"

Harry tucked the talismans into the pocket of his jacket carefully. He kept his eyes on the ground and thank them, voice rather hoarse. The two said nothing more but gave him a last firm squeeze on the shoulder. When Harry looked up, they were gone. 

Squaring his shoulders, Harry fixed a polite smile on his face and waited patiently for his turn at the barriers. He fell through it with ease and like an old blanket, the sounds, sights and smells of the wizarding world once again enveloped him in welcoming comfort.

"Harry! Oy! Harry!"

The tall pole with bright red hair could only be his friend. The smile now more genuine on his face, Harry pushed his trolley and was immediately enfolded in a Weasley welcome. Even the twins were there and in an aside, confided to Harry that the shop was looking very well indeed. As Molly fussed over him and the twins helped carry his trunk into an empty compartment along with Ron's,  the smile on his face grew bigger and bigger.

This was where he belonged.

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**                                                                               to be continued**

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**_A/N: Am I forgiven? Hitomi, magicknight and everyone? __I have a valid excuse for the lateness! I do! *whimper* I've started my practical training last week and dear god. . . .in the first week alone I've done over **30 hours **of overtime! 30 hours!!!! And I can't use the internet there coz it's in the administrative staff's office and I'm in the technical staff section. . . oh, poor me! Will everyone forgive me?_**

_As you've noticed, I made it nice and long, to make up for the lateness. I'm hoping to get back into a weekly update routine, also hopefully for my other fics as well *winces as her FAKE readers starts sharpening their knives*_

**_GOMEN NE!!___**


	6. Chapter 6:Death comes to HogwartsLiteral...

**When Death Comes A'Knocking**

**Chapter Six: Death comes to Hogwarts. Literally. Part II**

_A story by Shiozaki@ Kyo-kun_

**_Summary: __A crossover with my _****End of the Worlds Shinigami and ****Harry Potter. The British Shinigami are in a heap of trouble and ask our heroes for help. This is a 6th year fic and my own take on the secret of the Prophecy and why Harry is Harry.**

**_Plot-Mistresses: __Shiozaki__ & Shaynie_**

**_Spell-maker: __Literary Eagle_**

**_Warning:__ Shinigami at Hogwarts!_**

**_Review replies: _**_no time! But I love everyone who reviewed! Yosh! For those wanting more Tsu x Hi action. . . .er. . . .I'll try! Yosh again!_

**_*This chapter is a co-written effort by Shiozaki and Shaynie-san. Cheers!_**

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The ride to Hogwarts was, at it has always been, pure bliss and yet at the same time, gut-wrenching nausea. The bliss was understandable. After all, ever since he was 11 and found himself on the scarlet steam engine, he had made his first friend. It was also the ride that brought him to a castle he found himself regarding as truly his home instead of the picture perfect house at Privet Drive. In many ways, the Hogwarts Express was his transition point. The point where he shucked off the misery and gloom that was a trademark of his summers (except those precious few times he got to stay at the Burrow) and actually preparing himself to be happy.

But the gut-wrenching nausea was new. Kind of. He only started to experience it coming back for his fifth year after the disaster that was the Triwizard tournament. But even then it was just a mild feeling in the pit of his stomach. This was more of a roiling, twisting, spots-in-the-eyes kind of thing. After all, it wasn't every year he got to go back to Hogwarts after practically killing his own godfather.

_Don't think about it, Harry admonished himself firmly. _Don't let the others see how upset you were. . .or still am. _Ron and Hermione were sharing a seat, while Ginny sat next to him. His two best friends were in a mild argument, nothing earthshaking, just typically Ron-and-Hermione. Ginny was quiet though, keeping her eyes focused on the book she was reading. It looked like a novel to Harry. As Ginny shifted, turning the pages, Harry read the title on the creased spine. __The End of the Worlds._

Harry was grateful that Ginny didn't try to talk to him. He wasn't sure how well he'd respond. Though there was no doubt that he was happy to go back, he was at the same time, miserably sick with worry and apprehension. If his fifth year had brought more death, what would his sixth year bring? Would he have to continue his Occlumency lessons with the git? Would everyone avoid him like he carried the plague as they did when they thought he was the heir of Slytherin? Harry sighed inaudibly, shifting slightly in his seat. They were only 20 minutes into the train journey and already he was missing Kyo and Takashi. He missed their uncomplicated company. Kyo with his sly, almost flirtatious remarks and downright teasing which, like quicksilver could turn into righteous mother henning. Takashi, with his calm demeanour that wasn't unlike Professor Lupin's which actually hid a teasing streak as wicked as Kyo's. Harry had found that in their company, he could almost ignore the endlessly repeating memory of Sirius falling into the Veil. The look of almost comical surprise was just as painful if it had been a look of agony. Sirius had been unprepared for his death. Hadn't even realised it was coming. Did anyone?

"Oi!" Ron shouted suddenly, fingers snapping in front of Harry's face.

Harry jumped in surprise and glared at Ron, Ginny mimicking him. She had dropped her novel, startled as Harry was and the book now lay face down on the floor, pages bent.

"Honestly!" she muttered to herself as she picked her book up and smoothed the crumpled pages.

Ron gave him a sheepish look. "Just making sure you weren't. . . .well, you know mate," his eyes shifted, shivering a bit. "Oh, sorry Gin," he added.

Harry smiled, more of a crook of the lips than a full blown smile. Over the summer, he found it harder to dredge up the effort to smile convincingly. Kyo and Takashi never called him on it, instead seeming to prefer the half-smiles he could give. He knew his best friends weren't the sort to be so easily satisfied. In the past, not even giving a reaction in the proper time would have Hermione jumping all over him demanding to know what's wrong with Ron at the sides, shooting him worried looks. It was with some surprise to Harry that Hermione and Ron just looked at him expectantly, waiting for an answer.

_Well? What did you expect? That their whole lives revolve around you and you only? That little voice in his head was rather snide. He much preferred it to the hissing, water-on-hot-coals that was Voldermort's. _

"Harry?"

He jumped again, startled as Ginny touched his elbow softly. He hadn't realise that he was getting lost in his thoughts again. It was a disconcerting habit he had started in the summer. Harry gave all three of them another one of his crooked smiles, Ron and Hermione just blinking at him while Ginny frowned faintly.

"Sorry," he said easily. "Just. . .thinking about my summer."

This time, Hermione did frown. "It wasn't. . ." she hesitated, "It wasn't bad was it? I mean, the Dursleys didn't _do anything right?" she finished in a rush. Ron too frowned and echoed her words._

"Yeah Harry, you okay? They didn't treat you too bad did they?"

Harry shrugged. "They were the same. It helped that I had some distractions." He was about to tell them more when he stopped himself. Did he _really want to tell them more? He recalled again, despite the fact that Ron and Hermione owled him regularly (even Ginny sent him a few letters which he was grateful for), that something had been a bit. . .off with their letters. Ron and Hermione's that is. Their letters, filled with the usual summer news and regular admonishment to be careful, had sounded a bit awkward. . .unsure. Like they were distracted and weren't paying attention. Or maybe even paying too much attention in trying to sound normal?_

"What kind of distractions?" Ron asked.

Harry looked back and forth from tall, gangly Ron to fizzy haired Hermione and the quietly waiting Ginny. She had a look in her eyes, the youngest Weasley, as though waiting for someone to throw her out with some lame excuse. This after all, sounded like something the Gryffindor Trio would not like to share with anyone. When Harry's eyes met hers, she stared back defiantly, almost challenging him to try despite the small white teeth that chewed her bottom lip nervously. Harry smiled faintly. "Ginny, can you put up a silencing spell? I don't want anyone to hear us."

"I d-" she started hotly then stopped. "A silencing spell?" she asked weakly.

"Yeah."

"Oh." She blinked, looked at Ron and Hermioe who didn't really seem happy that Ginny got to be there as well and dug out her wand. She waved it briefly, muttering _silencio_. Tucking her wand back inside her school robes, she sat back in her seat and turned that defiant gaze on Ron and Hermione who wisely chose not to say anything.

"Well," Harry started. "I was in the garden one day, doing my chores when. . ."

He basically told them everything. Everything that is, except the time where Kyo and Takashi nursed him back to health. Somehow, he felt that that little bit was special. Something he wanted to treasure by himself. By the time he was finished, Ginny was smiling and patting his hand fondly, saying how nice it was that he had found someone to make his summer better.

Ron and Hermione though, shared a look.

"Harry, are you sure they weren't. . . . you know, Death Eaters?" Hermione asked uneasily. "I mean, remember what happened with Barty Crouch Jr.?"

"No," Harry shook his head vehemently. "They're _not _Death Eaters. They didn't have the Dark Mark. They showed me," he replied stubbornly.

"Mate, I'm sure they can hide it," Ron answered, his tone slightly condescending.

"I would know, alright?" Harry snapped back. "They had the opportunity to either kill or kidnap me all summer and they didn't. They were even in my room and they did absolutely nothing! The most dangerous thing either ever did was that I had to stop Kyo from scribbling all over Dudley's pictures!" Harry grinned fondly in remembrance.

Uneasy silence filled the compartment, Ron and Hermione sharing another look which was quickly getting on his nerves. _Right_, Harry thought grimly to himself, _looks like I have to tell them anyway._ Cross now, Harry had to remind himself that these two were his best friends, that they were trying to look out for him. _If they did, they could have at least sounded a bit more interested in their letters now wouldn't they?_

So Harry told them about the incident at dinner, how Kyo practically threw lightning into their backyard when Vernon started insulting him again, how Kyo always helped him out with his chores and how on the night of his birthday, Kyo and Takashi nursed him back to health. He added with a grateful smile the box of food, real food, that they left behind and how they threatened dismemberment the next day when they found that he only opened a tin of soup and ate a few pieces of bread. The blanket was a comfort he could hardly describe. In fact, the thick wool was in his trunk. He couldn't bear to leave it behind and have Aunt Petunia finding it and throwing it out.

In the end, they still looked unconvinced (except for Ginny that is) but they let the matter drop. Harry though, made them promise, on their friendship and his Invisibility cloak that they would not tell _anyone _about the two Japanese. Not even Remus Lupin or Dumbledore. He had explained to them their refusal to get involved with either side of the war. Their only job, as Takashi had told Harry grimly one time, was to help him stop Voldermort. Ginny promised easily, with Ron and Hermione giving their grudging word as well. Again, uneasy silence filled the compartment until Hermione suddenly frowned, her mouth puckering in thought. 

"Harry," she started slowly. "How did you say K-kyo and Ta-takashi," stumbling over the foreign names, "came into your room?"

Harry blinked. Trust Hermione to catch on to the little details most people would miss. Truth to tell, he wouldn't mind having Hermione working on that bit of mystery as well. Every time he asked either one of them, Kyo would just grin and say, "It's magic!" while Takashi would just say solemnly, "A magician must never reveal his tricks."

"They just appeared," Harry shrugged. "Like they apparated in."

"But, wouldn't Professor Dumbledore have at least made sure there were anti-apparition barriers around your house?" Hermione asked bewildered. "That has got to be standard precaution at least!"

"Now you see why I trust them?" Harry asked pointedly. "They could have made off with me anytime but they didn't."

Hermione and Ron had to concede that. Grudgingly as well. Seeing Harry's frown, Hermione leaned over and gripped his hands in her own small ones. "It's not that we don't trust you Harry," she said urgently. "But what kind of friends would we be if we don't look out for you? I promise we won't say anything to anyone," she added hastily when a dark look crossed Harry's face, "but you won't mind if we're on our guards do you? Just in case?"

It was these kinds of things which reminded Harry time and again how lucky he was to have the two of them as his best friends. "No," he smiled softly, squeezing back Hermione's hands. "I don't. Thanks. Just. . .if we see them again, don't make them too uncomfortable, okay?" he asked pleadingly. Which they readily agreed to.

A few minutes later, the silencing ward was lifted as someone knocked on the door of their compartment. It turned out to be Neville and Luna Lovegood. The two were welcomed in happily, exchanging summer stories with everyone. Luna told them in a vaguely disappointed voice that she and her dad failed to find any Crumple-horn Snark. But, she insisted, it was only a matter of time. She then buried her nose in the latest edition of _The Quibbler. Upside down._

The rest of the ride to Hogwarts was relatively peaceful. Other friends popped in from time and time, everyone else from D.A. did but the ride was marked with the most interesting non-appearance of one Draco Malfoy. When Ron pointed it out, Harry had just shrugged and said good riddance.

                                     *****************************************

Albus Dumbledore regarded his four visitors over the rims of his spectacles. The four Japanese seemed unconcerned over the rather blatant scrutiny. They had been invited to sit in four, rather comfortable armchairs, lined in a straight row in front of the Headmaster's desk. Three of them had taken their places rather hesitantly, looking askance over the velvet upholstered seats. One, a Shiozaki as he recalled, sat down with nary a glance. The others had just asked him to call them by their last name. From his brief study of Japanese culture, he knew it wasn't exactly polite of him to call them by their first name since they only met.

To say that he was interested in the four, unexpected addition to the school was a mild understatement. First of all, why the sudden need for such a program? Every time he tried to contact Cornelius over the matter, he was brushed off impatiently. The Minister had pointed out that they had other more important matters to be worried about. Why bother with some exchange program? 

Severus Snape, his Potions Master, stood by his side, clad in his customary black robes that hung off his thin frame. The robes lent him a rather grim air, not helped by the ferocious scowl that refused to abate. That famous scowl which could reduce first years (even seventh!) into piles of blubbering mess barely dented the Japanese's' calm air. They had bowed politely to both the Headmaster and Professor Snape, the boy Hisoka Kurosaki even cracking a small smile as he took in the frown. Other than introducing themselves, the four had fallen silent, apparently content with letting the ball stay in his court.

Dumbledore leaned back in his own seat and smiled his best benign smile on the lot. Holding up a glass jar, he asked, "Lemon drops anyone?"

He fully expected to be refused politely. Most, if not all of his visitors did. It was more of a disarming tactic really. Let them think him a senile old man. Far easier then to steer them gently on to his chosen way. What he didn't expect was for a Asato Tsuzuki to lit up like a Christmas tree and practically pounce on the sweets.

Takashi Matsumada and the boy Kyo burst out laughing. The other boy, Hisoka, scowled (eerily as scary as Snape's) and hit Tsuzuki upside the head.

"Idiot!" he yelled. "Show some manners will you!"

"But!" Dumbledore had to remind himself that Asato Tsuzuki was 27 years old even as the man turned watery eyes over to the wheat-haired boy, lower lips trembling in a pout. "He offered them!"

"You were supposed to refuse! It's only polite!"

"Hi~soka!!!"

"Idiot!"

The two Hogwarts professors could only watch in gaping disbelief as a sixteen year old boy berated a full grown adult to act more. . .adult. Their two friends only giggled, refusing to help either side and it might have gone on further if Fawkes, back from one of his mysterious sojourns hadn't chose that moment to enter. The scarlet and gold bird effectively stopped the argument. If Dumbledore had expected awed amazement, he was disappointed. Three of them only blinked while Tsuzuki frowned. "Sis?" 

Fawkes trilled, a song that was surprisingly ecstatic and immediately flew over to the purple-eyed man, taking up perch on his shoulder. Fawkes trilled again and nipped affectionately at the man's black hair.

"Well," Dumbledore smiled. "It looks like Fawkes has taken a liking to you, Mr. Tsuzuki."

"He's an animal magnet," Kurosaki muttered sourly.

"Don't mind them," Matsumada smiled back, gesturing at Tsuzuki and Kurosaki apologetically. "Marriage hasn't yet convinced them to stop arguing."

Dumbledore felt his bushy white eyebrows climb up to his hair. He was aware of a similar look of incredulity on Snape's face. "They're married? To each other?"

Matsumada bowed his head briefly. "As I am to Kyo here."

"You're _both married?" Dumbledore asked in surprise. At their nods, he leaned back and stroked his long beard thoughtfully. Perhaps he could work on this then. . ._

                                   ****************************************

The four Shinigami stood waiting in a small room off what was called the Great Hall. Professor Snape had dropped them off there, telling them with a sneer to wait until they were called to be introduced to the rest of the school. Kyo barely acknowledged the Professor. The instant the door closed behind the billowing black robes, he spun around and fixed a cold glare on his blameless husband. "I hate him," he snarled. Thankfully, Takashi had put up a silencing ward just in time.

"It won't be that bad," Takashi said soothingly. "We can still see each other."

"Not that _bad? Not __that bad?" Kyo practically shrieked. "I dare you to repeat that!"_

Takashi sighed. Kyo had a point. They weren't surprised to find their presence here at Hogwarts to be met with suspicion. That Professor Snape had hinted that he thought their presence here suspicious to say the least and that he would be more than happy to expose them. But still, when Dumbledore had cheerfully announced that despite their marital status, the four of them had to be separated because "Really, it is rather uncomfortable for the rest of the staff to find two of their colleagues sleeping with their students, despite you being married. Makes for some strained relations wouldn't it? Which we must of course, avoid!"

"Divide and conquer," Hisoka spoke up quietly.

The other three turned to face him.

"Divide and conquer," Hisoka repeated. "I sensed that much from him. He thinks he can trip us up if he keeps us all separated. Maybe we would even accidentally give ourselves away if we try to meet each other secretly."

"That means he's going to be keeping a close eye on us," Takashi rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe even go so far as to put mine and Tsuzuki's apartments under surveillance."

"Damn," Kyo muttered. "No secret midnight sex."

All three of them ignored him from long practice. 

"So what do we do?" Tsuzuki asked, turning to Takashi. From the moment Enma had assigned them to this case, the former doctor was instinctively placed as their leader. Takashi had assumed the position with little fuss and even now his eyes narrowed in thought.

He sighed. "We have to play along then. I don't blame them for taking such precautions. We did appear in the middle of a war after all. They have the right to be suspicious."

Tsuzuki and Hisoka didn't look all that devastated. But then, they were awfully talented when it came to hiding their real emotions. Kyo though. . . Kyo was practically spitting fire. It was only after Takashi reminded him gently that he could at least still be with Harry that Kyo calmed down. Dumbledore, not knowing of their earlier involvement with Harry, had assigned them a guide in the form of the smartest witch in school and her two close friends whom he was sure would make them feel instantly at home.

It was also agreed that Kyo and Hisoka would not be taking any formal classes as they technically had 'graduated' already from their own school. Instead, they would be participating in the classes their guides do and try to acclimatize themselves as best as possible. Tsuzuki and Takashi meanwhile, were assigned as guest lecturers of sorts with Professor Lupin whom they were told were this year's Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

Hisoka smiled faintly. "The reason we got Harry and his friends is because he's hoping that they'll be watching us. Spies of sorts. That Dumbledore is something isn't he?"

Kyo scowled ferociously. "Oh, he's something alright," he muttered angrily. Despite knowing he'll get to see Harry again, in fact, share classes with him, Kyo was still upset over the enforced separation with Takashi. In their 30-odd years together, they had never been apart. Even on missions, when Kyo or Takashi were assigned with Watari instead of together, either one would keep the other company at night. They needed each other's presence. 

"Hey," Takashi turned him around gently, a hand cupping his chin and forcing him to look into dimmed, hazel-green eyes. "We have a job to do. It's our duty after all. And it won't be long. We can still see each other during the day. And even at night I'm sure if we're careful," he added hopefully.

Those light blue eyes refused to relinquish their shadows. Unnoticed to them, Hisoka and Tsuzuki had retreated to another corner of the room. They too, needed to reconcile with the separation.

"You know that we have to keep their suspicions off of us," Kyo said quietly. "If we're caught out at night, that'll only make things worse. And if you're right about having your apartments under watch. . ."

"I'm sure they won't think that a couple seeking each other's comforts to be suspicious now, don't you?"

Kyo snorted. "They would love _any _excuse to work on us. Especially that Snape guy."

The two fell quiet, forehead pressed close as they shut their eyes, letting their breath commingle together and just absorbing the feel of each other. It might be a long time before they got to be this close anyway.

"I need you," Kyo whispered, letting his head fall on Takashi's broad shoulder. He turned his head to the side and inhaled the scent of familiar, loved skin. "You keep the nightmares away."

"And you mine," Takashi whispered back.

                                ******************************************

"Are you sure you're going to be okay with this?"

Hisoka smiled. "I'm sure. It's one of the few joys of being a telepath/empath after all. I get to listen to voices in my head," he teased gently.

Tsuzuki grinned back, albeit at a less exuberant shade than normal. Like Takashi and Kyo, both found comfort in the other's nearness at nights. It's amazing how a familiar presence could drive the demons away. "If you need anything, just call out okay?" he asked, slightly anxious. Hisoka still could not totally shake off that frustratingly cute habit of thinking that he did not and could not depend on anyone.

Green eyes were rolled in exasperation. "I will. Stop worrying."

"You know I can't."

"Idiot."

"I love you too."

"Hmm."

They shared a low chuckle at the familiar exchange. Unbidden, both glanced over to their colleagues, standing some ways off and wrapped in each other's arms. Takashi was whispering something in Kyo's ear while the boy shook his head repeatedly.

"Think they can handle this?" Tsuzuki asked in a low voice.

"Neither of them are telepathic," Hisoka replied softly.

"Yeah, but they got the whole feel each other's presence kind of thing. Remember what Takashi told us when A—ow!"

Hisoka was none too gentle when he smacked Tsuzuki upside the head. "Idiot. That's what you get for talking without thinking. That part of their lives are under the Death Seal."

"But does it have to _hurt_?" Tsuzuki whined pitifully.

"Hello? _Death _Seal? Ring any bells?"

Tsuzuki pouted.

"Oh, cute, real cute." Hisoka rolled his eyes again. For precaution, he dragged Tsuzuki even farther away from the couple. "Yeah, they can feel each other's presence still," Hisoka admitted. "But remember that even when they could, Takashi was still driven almost insane?"

"But then he couldn't even see Kyo," Tsuzuki argued back. "This is different.'

Hisoka shrugged. "Try telling them that."

Again, their eyes fell on the silent couple. Takashi had resorted to just caressing Kyo's hair softly, repeatedly while Kyo laid quiescent in his embrace.

"Sometimes," Tsuzuki spoke up suddenly, amethyst eyes soft, "Sometimes I get a bit jealous of them, you know? They love each other so much that it hurts them to even be apart for a while. Even after all these years. . ."

"And sometimes," Hisoka continued for him, holding tight to Tsuzuki's hand, "you can't help but be grateful that you're not in love like them. Their love is too strong. It's too much for anyone else."

"Aa, you're right."

                                 ********************************************

The sorting ceremony held all the joy and laughter of a funeral procession. The Sorting hat's song was barely joyous. In fact, one might even be tempted to call it morbid. The staff were similarly grim though Harry managed to ignore that for a bit in light of a most unexpected face. Unexpected, but entirely welcome.

"Hey Harry," Ron hissed, digging his elbow into Harry's side. "You didn't tell me that Lupin was gonna come back!"

Harry shook his head in bewilderment. "He didn't even tell me!" he hissed back. "And ouch!" He jabbed Ron back.

Ron gave him an unabashed grin in return. "This oughta be way better than Umbridge though. We actually get to _learn in his class."_

"Don't let Hermione hear you. She might faint from the shock," Harry replied wryly.

"You never know, she might not. Hey," Ron sat up suddenly, throwing a frown as he glanced at the partially open doors at the back of the Hall. "Where is Hermione by the way? The Sorting's already started and she isn't here. Even Dumbledore," he added unnecessarily.

True enough, Hermione and Dumbledore were conspicuous by their absence. As they had trudged in from the unsurprising cold rain, dashing straight into the Entrance Hall from the thestral-driven carriages, Hermione was instantly collared by Professor Mcgonagall who informed her that she was needed by the Headmaster. Even as the first years were led in (a pitifully few number comparatively. Many parents were frightened by Fudge's admission of Voldermort's return) by a stern looking Mcgonagall, and sorted alphabetically, the whispers were already flying around concerning the absence of a certain Headmaster from his ornate gilded chair.

They were already down to "Zenadine, Alyssa!" who became the last Ravenclaw for the year before their missing friend and Headmaster entered the Hall. Dumbledore made his way serenely to his chair, looking as calm and slightly insane as ever in bright purple robes with twirling planets. Hermione kept her head down and practically ran to the empty spot on the bench the two boys quickly made for her. Sitting down between Harry and Ron, Hermione finally lifted her head up and her brown eyes were dancing with excitement.

"Harry!" she whispered urgently, grabbing hold of his sleeve. "You'll never guess what hap-"

"Ahem, if I may have your attention please?"

Throwing Harry an agonized look, Hermione shut her mouth and faced the direction of the High Table resolutely. Harry and Ron exchanged quizzical looks. But before they could pester her, Dumbledore was already going on with his announcement. Forced to keep quiet as everyone else was, the boys managed to swallow their curiosity.

". . . in times like this, it is imperative that we stand together despite our differences and show the world a united front. With this in mind, the Ministry has seen fit to further strengthen the ties with our foreign counterparts. The program sees a cultural exchange of our Eastern counterparts and as such, may I present to you your new fellow students and professors?"

With a grand sweep of his arm, Dumbledore motioned to a room off the side. A room which Harry noted was the same one the newly appointed Triwizard champions had adjourned to in his fourth year. The door swung open, and Harry craned his neck to see better over the sea of other students that tried to get the first glimpse of the foreign wizards as well. Harry's heart thudded painfully in his chest. Dumbledore had said 'foreign Eastern wizards.' Did this mean what he thought it meant?

From the gloom, four people came striding out, led in part by Professor Mcgonagall who had risen from her seat, presumably to sort the new students. All four wore black robes though two wore the standard cut of a Hogwarts student while the other two wore what was clearly more formal robes.

"May I present to you, Professors Takashi Matsumada and Asato Tsuzuki?"

The two professors gave a slight bow and the Hall burst into loud whispers and not a few giggles. Harry was having enough trouble trying to maintain the look of bland curiosity on his face.

"And your new students, Hisoka Kurosaki and Kyo Shiozaki?"

This time, the Hall was swept with an audible sigh. 

Harry _really had to fight to keep his face blank._

Ron leaned over from behind Hermione and poked Harry in the ribs. "Hey, Harry! Is that-"

"Ron!" Harry glared.

"Oh, sorry!"

Professor Mcgonagall ignored the whispering that refused to die down and proceeded to usher the younger of the two students over to the stool for the Sorting. Harry had never met Kyo and Takashi's two other colleagues and he was quite surprised to see how young this Hisoka was. Hair that was the colour of wheat gold, a shade darker than Malfoy's silvery locks, fell over bright green eyes. He looked no older than 16 at least.

The decrepit Hat had barely touched Hisoka's head before it shouted out, "Gryffindor!" with a vehemence it had not shown with the first years. Gryffindor table burst into applause, loudest from the girls with not a few catcalls from some seventh year boys. Hisoka removed the Hat calmly, ignoring the attention he was receiving and walked over to the Gryffindor's table. Surprisingly, (or not) two empty space had opened up in front of Harry and Hermione. Hisoka slid into one of these as Kyo was sorted.

Giving a polite nod to the curious stares around him, Hisoka turned around, watching Kyo's own sorting interestedly. He pointedly ignored Harry's frank stare.

The Hat took longer with Kyo. Almost too long. He had been sitting on that stool, relaxed as you please even as the Hall ran alive with new murmurs of interest, for almost a minute before the tear near the brim of the Hat opened up.

                                      ***************************************

_Oh my. Another one! I don't think we have seen your kind in these Hall for over 500 years!_

_And what kind is that? Kyo thought back politely.___

_Do we have to play this charade young sir? The Hat asked, amused_. A Child of Danna. An Angel of Death. A. . .how do you call yourself? A Shinigami?__

_True enough._

_And what is your purpose here, young man?_

_To do our duty.__ I'm sure you can see that much._

_You would bring death into this school?_

_Death is already here._

_Again, true enough. _

_Could we depend on you to not reveal our secret? It is imperative for the success of our mission. You would realise its importance._

_Of course.__ You may count on my discretion. Not even the Headmaster will know. The Hat sighed. A moment of quiet, then;_ What's this? _The Hat sounded surprised.__ Oh dear. . ._

Kyo frowned_. What is it?_

_Ah, nothing. Just messing about here and there. The__ Hat was evading, that much Kyo could tell. Before he could ask further of it however, the Hat suddenly shouted out,__ "GRYFFINDOR!"_

                                       ***************************************

Harry watched with avid eyes and an admittedly happy relief when the Hat shouted "Gryffindor!" Is this the surprise Kyo and Takashi had spoken of? If it is, then Harry was very much surprised and extremely happy. He had thought that the only way he got to see them was through clandestine meetings or even just the occasional messages at least. He should have known better from those two.

Prepared to give a warm welcome while keeping in mind Kyo's warning that they did not want Dumbledore or anyone else to know of their friendship, Harry smiled as Kyo took the seat opposite him, Hisoka catching his sleeve to murmur something in his ear. Kyo nodded in reply and grinned back as Seamus elected himself as spokesman for the Gryffindor's. The introductions were quickly made before the food appeared. Getting to Harry, Seamus was careful to enunciate his name properly. Probably trying to get some look of awe from the foreigners.

They were rather disappointed. Hisoka only nodded politely, echoed by Kyo. There was no hint of recognition in those light blue eyes as Kyo said, "Nice to meet you Harry."

                                                                **********************

**                                                                        to be continued**

                                                                **********************

_A/N: Yes, a rather abrupt ending, I know. What to do? Sigh. You know what to do. Hop on over to my mailing list at groups.yahoo.com/group/shadowsofthefox and join the **Manipulative Competition!** Go on. . .you know you want to. . ._


	7. Chapter 7:On Sanmaji Handomei Kiriku

_"On sanmaji handomei kiriku."_

The spell itself was laughably easy for someone with Tsuzuki's kind of firepower. His stance relaxed and easy, Tsuzuki might have been mistaken for a professor looking for some time alone to be with his thoughts; hands in the pockets of his jeans, his robes fluttering open as he gazed unseeingly out of a window.

But then, as it would have been extremely obvious to the passing observer, the swirl of power and magic that leaked tangibly from his tall form was an indication of anything but.

Takashi stood company with him, Kyo and Hisoka having to play the part of new students settling in their dorms. It should have been likewise for the two; new professors settling in their own new apartments. But Tsuzuki _does _have the reputation of being the strongest onmyouji in the Shokan; Takashi and Kyo running a close second. So an illusion charm was easy enough to manufacture, not to mention the fact that it seems as though wizards don't know how to conceal auras.

And that night, their first night in Hogwarts, the two 'professors' made sure that no matter what, their identities would not be so easily revealed.

They summoned the ghosts.

When Ami had first told them of wandering _yuurei in this land, they had been skeptical at first. On a logical level, it was believable. But on another level, that level where you were _really _honest with yourself, they hadn't believed her._

Ami had settled that easily enough. She brought them to a little rundown house somewhere out in Bath. The house had been abandoned for nearly 50 years, gaining the reputation of severe haunting. To the Shinigami's unpleasant surprise, the rumours were correct. The ghost of a woman, murdered in her sleep, haunted the house of her family and refused to leave. The Shinigami would have been happy to help her out of her misery. No matter how much a yuurei might wail and howl that they _must _seek revenge or find a loved one, the Shinigami knew that true peace could only be achieved by sending the spirit on. They had seen the looks of rapture on the spirit's face countless times mere seconds before it was banished, finally accepting death and letting go of the living world.

But, as Ami gently reminded them, they had no jurisdiction there. True, at one point, they might have to banish a spirit in the course of their special assignment here but it had been made clear that under normal circumstances, banishment by the Shinigami was expressly forbidden. No one wanted a 'civil war', so to speak, to break out between the Lands of the Dead.

But nobody said that they have to _tell the ghosts this little tidbit._

Ami had warned them that Hogwarts had one of the highest numbers of ghosts so the Shinigami had to take precautions. Ghosts, no matter how well the Shinigami concealed their auras, could spot a god of death immediately. It had not failed to escape their notice that one or two professors had commented on the lack of ghostly attendance during the welcoming feast. It was apparently a tradition in Hogwarts for the ghosts to join in the welcome.

_"On sanmaji handomei kiriku."_

They waited perhaps for around ten minutes, the silence broken only by the rhythmic chanting of the summoning spell. Slowly, with the faint traces of terrified wails, the ghosts came.

Like cold mist, the ghosts seeped through the walls, clearly fighting the pull of the spell. Insubstantial hands scrabbled ineffectively for any sort of purchase, their wails reaching a crescendo as with one last chant, the room flared a bright purple.

Where there had only been two, 'living, breathing humans', the room was now packed with spirits.

Reflecting the moments of their deaths, the Shinigami could practically tell by sight alone how old some of the ghosts were just by their clothes. From what Takashi could make out, some of them had to be at least 200 years old already.

"I'm sorry, but could everyone please be quiet?" Tsuzuki was unfailingly polite and gentle but he might as well have threatened them with eternal purgatory; that was how fast silence fell.

Huddled together in fearful masses, the ghosts stared in wild-eyed fright as Tsuzuki and Takashi tried their best to project a presence as unthreatening as possible.

"First of all, let me assure you that none of us here seeks to banish you," Tsuzuki continued.

The silence stretched for eternity until finally, a tall, skeletal ghost detached itself from the throng and hesitantly floated forwards. The ghost had on wizard robes of a fashion that might have been the rage a few hundred years back. It was stained with liberal amounts of silver blood. Tsuzuki tried to control his grimace. Judging by the ghost's aura and appearance, it had not been an easy death for him.

"I am the Bloody Baron." The voice was a harsh whisper, cold knives rusted with age and disuse and countless years of misery chained to the place of his death.

Takashi and Tsuzuki both bowed in respect, introducing themselves and after a moment's hesitation, the Baron bowed back.

"Can you introduce us to the rest of your friends please?" Takashi smiled.

The Baron eyed him shrewdly, maybe thinking that it was only a ploy. Ghosts had the innate ability to know that by granting their names, they were essentially giving the other person power over them. The Shinigami knew for sure that was why the Baron had given them the name wizards had bestowed upon the gaunt ghost instead of its true name.

"We are not oath breakers," Takashi said mildly.

Clearly reluctant but seeing no other way out of it (the room had been sealed by barrier wards preventing the ghosts escape), the Baron made the necessary introductions. A particular ghost, a poltergeist in fact called Peeves, caught Takashi's attention. Poltergeists were a form of _onryo or angry ghosts, the difference being that poltergeist released pent up mischief that bordered on outright menace. Takashi made a mental note to keep an eye on that one. Despite its cowed look (Peeves bowing his head meekly while absentmindedly playing with a water balloon), there was that hint of mischief simmering in its eyes. Kyo had absolutely no patience for any type of _onryo_, his policy being 'get them before they get you'. Besides, the other professors had warned them of Peeves. Even if Kyo might not banish Peeves out of pure irritation, he might join in the mischief-making instead._

After the round of introductions, Tsuzuki quickly got to the point. After some explaining and clarifying, it basically came down to this;

_All we're here for is to get rid if this Voldemort guy by whatever means necessary. So don't go around telling anyone about us and we'll leave you alone. Yes, we did promise that we won't banish you but if our mission is jeopardised, all bets are off, got it? _

The ghosts were only too happy to agree.

                               **************************************                

For the first time in his long and illustrious Hogwarts' career, the feast could not end soon enough for Harry. He chewed impatiently, nearly choking on his peas in his haste and saved by a timely thump on the back from Hermione. When the other Gryffindors around them were busy interrogating the newcomers, Hermione hissed in his ear.

"I thought you were supposed to act like you've never seen them before! You're making people suspicious!"

Harry quickly gulped his food and sneaked a glance at the High Table. Sure enough, Snape was giving him the evil eye and even Dumbledore had a solemn blue gaze fixed on him. Muttering an apology to Hermione, Harry resolutely kept his eyes on his plate, only occasionally throwing in a word or two. Kyo, Harry was rather irritated to notice, was a great actor. He gave no sign at all of having met before, much less spent a birthday with him. If anything, he was quite charming, throwing a wink in a blushing Lavender's direction and eagerly asking Hermione on the history of the school. As Hermione launched enthusiastically on the abridged version of 'Hogwarts; a History', the others groaned and complained good-naturedly that it was too early for a history lesson. Hermione seemed to have forgotten her initial suspicions as well when Kyo proved to be the attentive listener to her recital.

The boy Hisoka though, (who with his wheat-gold hair and large luminous eyes were as un-Japanese looking as Ron was) kept quiet throughout the meal. He offered no small talk nor engaged in any. He ate his food quietly, albeit a brief scowl crossed his face when Kyo absently stabbed a piece of chocolate fudge cake which had mysteriously appeared along with the chicken and Yorkshire puddings.

To the collective Gryffindors' amusement, Hisoka rapped Kyo's knuckles sharply with the handle of his knife and turned a pointed look at Kyo's indignant "Hey!"

"You'll spoil your dinner," he said in a bland voice. 

Kyo pouted which caused half of the girls to sigh happily. "Takashi always lets me have some!" he whined pathetically.

"Do I look like Takashi?" came the mild question.

Something must have tipped off Kyo that now was the perfect time to back off as Harry knew without a doubt, nothing could have normally stood in the way of Kyo and anything remotely chocolaty.

"Ah, right. Of course you don't," Kyo answered cheerfully enough. "My Takashi would have been perfectly happy to do _other things with that cake besides eating it and-"_

"Idiot."

"That was my _hand!_"

"I noticed."

Harry's housemates laughed at the interaction between the two Japanese. It was more than slightly amusing to see the younger boy berate the older one. Only Hermione (and Harry because he was sulking a bit over the fact that he had to pretend to not know Kyo) watched them with a small frown marring her forehead.

"Excuse me, Kyo?" she interrupted them.

Kyo and Hisoka broke off their banter, the older boy blinking at her bemusedly. "Yes?"

"You mentioned a, uh, Takashi?" Hermione stumbled a bit over the name. "Is that the same as Professor Matsumada?" she waved at the High Table. Said Professor was currently engaged in small talk with Professor McGonagall.

"Yeah, the same Takashi," Kyo smiled. "Why?"

"Oh, the way you were talking just now," Hermione blushed faintly, "It sounds like you two are really close friends. . ." she trailed off hopefully.

Kyo waved a negligent hand. "We're very close," Kyo replied seriously. 

"And here we go again," Hisoka muttered under his breath.

"He's my love slave."

The same girls that had sighed happily at every small pout of Kyo's collectively spat/coughed their respective pumpkin juice/mashed potatoes. Hermione's fork clattered on her plate and Ron turned a fire-engine red.

"Your. . . .love slave?" Hermione repeated weakly. It took all of Harry's restraint to not end up in fits of giggles at his friends' bewilderment.

"Kidding," Kyo deadpanned.

                               ****************************************

After the feast, Hermione explained to Harry and Ron and by default, Kyo and Hisoka, that the three of them were assigned by Dumbledore as the two Japanese's guides. The new fifth year prefects took care of the awkward first years as Hermione efficiently herded the two through the crowd, Harry and Ron following obediently in her wake. Hermione and Ron took in the usual 'Ooh' and 'Aah' as they moved through the halls, revealing Hogwarts in all of its moving portraits and enchanted suits of armours glory with all the pride of a mother showing off her newborn. That is, Kyo did the ooh-ing and aah-ing. Hisoka merely raised an eyebrow. Harry didn't think that _anything _could shake the boy's unflappable air. It gave the boy the presence of someone older beyond his years.

The moving staircases were a particular delight to Kyo which resulted in Hisoka forcibly pulling him from one which was leading off straight into empty air. After a sharp word from Hisoka, Kyo pouted and followed along obediently.

The common room was a mass of confusion as the first years were sorted out. The other returning students had scampered off for bed, the feast making even the rowdiest sleepy as it did every new term. Kyo and Hisoka were informed that they were to share the sixth years' boys dormitory which had been duly enlarged to accommodate the newcomers. Waving a goodnight to Hermione, Harry and Ron led the two to their room, pausing to show the location of the showers.

Seamus, Dean and Neville were already inside, Neville bemoaning the loss of Trevor as usual. Harry noted with some surprise that Kyo's and Hisoka's beds had been placed side by side right next to his. Harry's hopes to have a quiet talk with Kyo were dashed though. Seamus and Dean seemed eager to make the Japanese's acquaintance as Hisoka had politely rebuffed their advances, claiming tiredness. Even as Hisoka disappeared behind the hangings of his four-poster bed after changing into long-sleeved pyjamas in the bathroom, Dean finally found a kindred soul in his love of football. Kyo and Dean spent a good twenty minutes arguing about West Ham's chances in the English Premier League.

It took a gruff reminder of lights out from Ron before the football fanatics finally let the argument to rest. The light plunged out, darkness descending onto the room as various bodies sighed and wiggled to get comfortable. It took some time before the last whisper and muffled laughter died down and even longer before sleep claimed them.

Harry kept his eyes open, staring off determinedly into the velvety blackness of the  hangings around his bed. It must have been around midnight before he felt it safe enough to get out. Wincing as his feet hit the cold stone floors, Harry padded over quietly to Kyo's bed. Carefully drawing aside the closed red hangings, Harry was taken aback as he realised that the bed was empty. A quick check showed that Hisoka was sleeping in his. Harry quickly shook Ron awake and bleary-eyed, Ron followed him out of the dorms.

They didn't have far to look. Standing by an armchair some distance away from the cold hearth of the common room was Kyo. He was clad only his flannel pants and a t-shirt, gazing out of a window.

 As Harry and Ron, who trailed behind rather nervously, made their way to Kyo's side, the older boy turned and smiled in welcome. Before Harry could say anything, Kyo put a finger against his lips, indicating quiet and cocked his head to the side, listening attentively to something. Puzzled, the two boys exchanged questioning glances but waited in silence nevertheless. A few moments later, with the soft pattering of slippers on stone, Hermione descended down the girl's staircase, a robe wrapped snugly around herself.

Seeing the three waiting boys, she stumbled to a halt and stared back with wide eyes.

Still not speaking, Kyo raised his hands, something white clutched in it. Ron and Hermione looked alarmed, stepping back instinctively with Ron clutching Harry's arm rather tight. Harry though, knew what it meant.

"Wards?" he asked quietly.

Kyo nodded and flicked his hand out. Ron and Hermione visibly flinched as the pieces of paper flew out. They watched in incomprehension as the talismans stuck to the walls, crosswise on both sides of the rooms and just over the top of the Fat Lady's portrait.

There was a brief blue glow from the talismans and Harry knew that the wards, silencing and repulsion, had been activated. The wards flaring to life seemed to be a signal as Kyo finally let a huge smile cross his face. Harry grinned back and was immediately folded into a giant hug.

"Surprised?" Kyo asked laughingly.

"You bet!" Harry grinned. "You could have told me though. I almost got a heart attack seeing you and Takashi in the Hall."

"That would have negated the purpose of it being a surprise now, wouldn't it?" Kyo chided gently and Harry only grinned wider in reply.

"Er- hey, Harry?" Ron prodded him nervously.

Harry turned and with a wide smile, beckoned his two best friends closer. "You guys, I want you to meet a good friend of mine, Kyo."

                               **********************************************

The Great Hall that morning slowly came alive, first, with the industrious cleaning from the house elves, then, the slow of trickle of students and professors; from the studious and bright-eyed, to the downright grumpy. Harry happened to fall somewhere between the bright-eyedness of Hermione to Ron's bear-like grumpiness. Hermione found the hours after dawn the best time for studying while Ron found it a sin worth purgatory to even mention the words 'dawn' and 'studying' in the same breath.

It was a common sight to the students of Hogwarts to find the trio sitting down on the same bench, bushy-haired Hermione buried in a thick tome, Ron blinking stupidly into a jug of pumpkin juice as he tried to figure out which was the bacon and which was the eggs while Harry ate his porridge with a decidedly absent air. Harry didn't really mind waking up early in the mornings. He was used to it at the Durselys. But that didn't mean that he _liked _it. At best, he was functioning on normal human levels while his brain had vague, fond notions of curling up in his warm bed in the dormitory.

That particular morning, the trio were joined by two new heads; one coin-bright and the other, a head of hair as dark as Harry's yet pointedly tamer than the Boy-Who-Lived's. Harry indulged in a moment of jealousy that Kyo could make his hair lie so neat like that. _Maybe I should grow my hair longer as well_, he mused to himself as he added more honey on his porridge. He had a vision of himself at 18, hair long and falling rakishly into his eyes. He felt a sharp stab of pain as the image reminded him of another man who had long, black hair.

Sirius.

_No, not right now._

"'S'indecent it is," Ron mumbled from Harry's left. He waved a knife dripping with jam in Kyo and Hisoka's direction. "Why on earth are you two so bloody chipper at 7.30 in the morning?"

Hisoka's lips twitched into the barest of a smile. "We've been up since 6am," he said coolly as he helped himself to some dry toast. He took Kyo's silent offer of butter with a slight nod of thanks.

Ron gaped, jam knife temporarily forgotten. "What the hel-"

"Ron!"

"Sorry Herm," he apologized hastily, "Er, what the heck were you doing up at 6 am?" he goggled.

"Exercising," Kyo replied cheerfully when it seemed that Hisoka had deemed the question beneath his notice. Hisoka was studying his buttered toast with a frown and in a decisive motion, bit savagely into it, crumbs flaking.

"Idiot," he muttered.

"Tsuzuki?" Kyo raised an eyebrow.

"That idiot," Hisoka confirmed with a roll of his eyes. "He woke up late again."

Hermione finally tore her eyes away from _A Hundred and Two Curses You Never Knew and Never Should Have Bought This Book For! _to look curiously in his direction. "Professor Tsuzuki?" she asked with some surprise. "How do you know he's late?"

"That," Hisoka made vague motions over his shoulder and sure enough, through the open doors of the Great Hall, Tsuzuki sprinted in, robes fluttering open in his wake and he collapsed dramatically over the chair he sat in last night. Takashi didn't even look up as Professor Mcgonagall clucked disapprovingly, only to wave a chocolate muffin in Tsuzuki's direction. The trio saw bemusedly that Tsuzuki managed to inhale the muffin while still draped all over his chair like that.

"How did you know?" Hermione insisted.

Hisoka smiled that same, bare-twitch-of-the-lips-smile which Harry was quickly realizing as his most expressive look. Well, that and the ferocious scowl that is. He was nearly as good as Snape, the only difference between them the distinct lack of malevolence in the young boy's face.  "Magic," Hisoka replied vaguely.

Unsatisfied by that answer, Hermione opened her mouth to grill him some more but was interrupted by the morning's usual owl delivery. It was a hubbub of confusion as various owls sought out their mail recipients and made good use of various breakfast tidbits. Hedwig wasn't one of them that morning but then, Harry had no one to correspond to anyway now. . .he doubted the Order would bother communicating with him as in the summer. He was at Hogwarts after all, the safest place in the wizarding world. And even then, as the owls departed, the hubbub was raised again as a bird never seen before in the Hall flew in.

Students whispered and pointed, awed eyes tracking the ghostly white bird that flew in a straight arrow. The bird was small, barely the size of a dove with a long, three-forked tail. Even the professors watched the avian creature interestedly. With no hesitation whatsoever, the bird flew to the Gryffindor table and alighted upon Hisoka's shoulder. Fresh whispers broke out. The bird, not to mention the fact that it was a kind unknown to the wizards, was glowing softly. Harry smiled. He knew what the bird was. A messenger and tracker.

Hisoka tilted his head to the bird's which oddly enough to the entire Hall's amazement, appeared to be whispering in his ear. After a few minutes of Hisoka nodding between pauses, he reached up and with a gentle coo, the bird hopped onto his outstretched hand. Ignoring the curious looks, Hisoka leaned forward and gently breathed on the bird. With many gasps, the students and professors watched in awe as the bird shimmered and dissolved into nothingness. 

As almost everyone broke into fresh whispers at their first sight of Oriental magic (as one Hufflepuff claimed it to be), Kyo asked Hisoka rather disinterestedly, focusing more on the blueberry muffin he was slathering with strawberry jam.

"Who was it from?"

"Shiina-san," Hisoka grunted. "She said to say hi and don't forget to visit her once in a while."

Kyo mumbled an affirmative as he turned the muffin this way and that. 

"What the hell was that?!" Ron breathed.

Even Hermione forgot to scold Ron for swearing as she herself was leaning forwards, eyes shining brightly.

"Yes, what was that?" she asked excitedly. "How did you do it? Was it an illusion? A conjuration?"

"That's just basic onmyoujitsu," Kyo said as he continued scrutinizing his muffin. "That was a messenger bird."

"What's on-omy," Hermione frowned. "What do you call it again?"

Kyo scooped up the tiniest dot of strawberry jam and with the delicate care of a brain surgeon, dabbed it on to an obscure side of the muffin. "Onmyoujitsu," he repeated. "What we call the magic we use. It's based on spiritualism." Glancing over and seeing Hermione practically bursting with more questions, Kyo quickly added, "You'll learn more about it in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Takashi is helping Professor Lupin with that class and you can ask him then. He's much better at explaining it than I am," he assured her.

Hermione sank back in her seat, obviously disappointed at having to wait. Ron decided to attack his eggs, finally recognising them while it was Harry's turn to lean forwards.

"Kyo?" he frowned. "What on earth are you doing with that muffin?"

Kyo looked up with a grin. "This, my newly-made friend, is my masterpiece," he declared proudly and raised the muffin higher. "See the way the jam is just nicely _so_, the delicious red a brilliant contrast with the deep blue of the berries. And the pale gold of the corn is the canvas by which I paint this masterpiece!"

Harry, Ron and Hermione blinked.

Hisoka sighed.

Kyo popped the muffin in his mouth with a relish.

Gulping it down with some pumpkin juice, he smiled widely. "And it's delicious too!"

"Japanese sure are weird," Ron muttered to his sausages.

                               **********************************************

Harry stared down at the paper in his hand with a feeling akin to dread. No, it _was _dread. Dread and pure horror. The paper, printed neatly with emerald green ink, was his new schedule. And his new schedule clearly stated that on Tuesdays and Fridays, he would be having Potions.

Potions.

With _Snape_.

Trembling, whether in anger or fear, he wasn't sure, Harry quickly made his way to the High Table and skidded to a stop by Dumbledore's chair. The aged Headmaster raised bushy eyebrows and seeing the paper clutched in a death grip in Harry's hand, released a soft sigh.

"Ah, Harry," Dumbledore smiled. "I see you've gotten your schedule."

"There's a mistake," Harry said frantically, his brain refusing to accept what he read. "I got Potions listed and I'm not supposed to. I only got an 'E' for it and Professor Mcgonagall said that Sn-Professor Snape only accepts 'O'. . ." he trailed off.

Dumbledore was shaking his head slowly. "I'm afraid that your schedule is correct Harry," he said gently. "Professor Snape has kindly agreed to make an exception for you this year and if you do your work well, he will allow you to continue on in the seventh year. After all, as Professor Mcgonagall told me, you're interested in becoming an Auror, correct?"

"Yes, no, I mean-" Harry waved his schedule around vaguely, suddenly aware that most of the professors were listening in. Snape sat in his usual seat, face turned resolutely forwards with a menacing scowl. "Professor Snape and I don't get along," he went on stubbornly, "and I _hate Potions! I'm willing to give up on becoming an Auror sir!" he finished desperately._

The twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes were gone and even his long beard seemed to droop as he placed a gnarled and wrinkled hand on Harry's shoulder. "I'm afraid that it is not an option Harry," he said softly. "You must take that class. It's for your protection," he added, seeing Harry about to protest.

The word 'protection' clamped his mouth shut faster than any sort of persuasion would. He stared unblinkingly into Dumbledore's eyes and knew this was a fight he would not win. So they think he needed a keeper? It wasn't enough was it, having been told that your one and only purpose in life is to kill or be killed, now he has to spend the rest of his two years here with Snape, the same Snape who loathed him and vice versa _just for his protection? To willingly spend time with the man who was responsible for his godfather's death as much as he was?_

The schedule was crushed, mangled in his tightened grip. The blazing green of his eyes dulled to a blank, opaque glass even as every line of fury in his face smoothened out leaving his face as blank as his eyes. Harry may not have realised it but his empty look hurt Dumbledore more than any furious tirade would have. The aged hand was lifted reluctantly away from a boy who did not feel nor welcomed the touch.

"I understand sir." Harry backed away, not even aware that Snape had turned a fraction of an inch, eyeing him carefully under the shadows of a glare. "I'm sorry to bother you," he said flatly and ignoring the helpless look in the Headmaster's face, made his way back to the Gryffindor table. His House, and the others, were whispering curiously, wondering at the exchange that had left their Headmaster looking so old and Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, so frighteningly emotionless.

Harry spent the remainder of breakfast ignoring Ron's attempts to cheer him up and Hermione's soft tutting that everything would work out in the end.

Kyo and Hisoka, wisely perhaps, said nothing.

                               **********************************************

His first class that morning was Care of Magical Creatures at 8.30.  Kyo and Ron were walking with him, Kyo opting to join Harry while Hisoka had reluctantly made off with Luna Lovegood. The eccentric Ravenclaw had shown up at the end of breakfast and insisted that the stars had decreed that she was to be Hisoka's guide to steer him through the murky haze that was his aura. Hisoka seemed rather taken aback that the girl wasn't put off one bit with his unresponsiveness and scowled even further when Luna announced that his aura was darkening even more.

"I'll show her a dark aura," Hisoka had mumbled underneath his breath. "I'll show her an aura so dark and she can stuff it u-"

"Don't be rude Hisoka," Kyo had laughed gently.

And so it was that Hisoka following Luna with his scowl unabated to Ancient Runes while Hermione went off for Advanced Arithmancy. Kyo, Ron and Harry then made their own way to Hagrid's hut where, as Ron explained to Kyo, the class usually takes place. Mostly due to the account that any creature Hagrid brought to class was likely to end up damaging school property and students alike.

"Tsuzuki's going to help Professor Hagrid with this class," Kyo announced casually. It got the effect he was aiming for. For the first time since breakfast, Harry's blank gaze finally lifted as he asked Kyo curiously, "Tsuzuki? He's Hisoka's. . .?"

"Yeah," Kyo smiled wryly. "Amazing how different they are and yet they still managed to stay together all this time."

Ron piped up from Harry's left. "Eh? Hisoka and Professor Tsuzuki?" he frowned. "What do you mean?"

Kyo smiled brightly. "Tsuzuki is Hisoka's love slave!"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right," he mumbled, unconvinced.

"My mother told me that liars go to bad places," Kyo pouted and Ron looked even more confused and wary. Harry had to fight back a chuckle at the looks Ron kept throwing Kyo. He knew that it was hard for Ron to accept what Kyo said as the truth because of the way he said it. It had shocked himself quite a bit when he found out that Kyo and Takashi were married. After all, it wasn't everyday that you walked in to find that your two guy friends who had volunteered to do the dishes as he cleaned the living room making out enthusiastically in your own kitchen.

Takashi had took the time and trouble to emphatically assure Harry that no, they _do not _think of Harry that way.

Ron risked a glance at his watch, clearly unnerved by Kyo's continued jesting on what a cute couple Hisoka and Tsuzuki were (Hisoka was only 16 for Merlin's sake! And Professor Tsuzuki was at least 25!) and said, in a rather grateful tone, that they'd best hurry up as they were going to be late for class.

Harry quickly grabbed Kyo and pulled him along, Ron trotting by his side. "C'mon," he threw over his shoulder to Kyo who wasn't exactly making the effort to hurry up. "We don't want to be late on the first day!"

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that," Kyo snickered. Tsuzuki is never on time. He won't give a damn that we're late."

As it turned out, Kyo's prediction was only half right: Professor Tsuzuki wasn't late, having actually gotten there before them. But he didn't seem to care about their tardy arrival. If he even noticed. He was deep in an argument with what had to be the strangest looking man that Harry had ever seen. 

At first glance, he looked like another human, an Asian like the rest of the new-comers, but then Harry saw the black and white striped tail that twitched ominously behind the smaller man.  The other students (as it was a NEWT level class, the Houses were all mixed together as according to their results and chosen subjects. Thankfully, no Malfoy in this class) were gathered in a nervous bunch some distance away from the two who were clearly arguing. They eyed the furiously lashing tail nervously and a Hufflepuff squeaked as the tail thumped hard on the ground in agitation. The odd-looking man was glaring up at Tsuzuki, saying "You idiot! I'm not somebody's science fair project. _This is what you summoned me for?!"_

"Byakko, come on. Play along, will you?" Tsuzuki pleaded. Violet eyes that reminded Harry of the best iris in his aunt's garden seemed to fill with tears. The other man, the one that he had called 'Byakko,' flinched visibly. With another start, Harry realised that Byakko's eyes were a deep red. If it wasn't for the warm ruby color, it would have been an uncanny resemblance to Voldemort's. 

Byakko backed a step away, looking around frantically as Tsuzuki, who was in all rights a professor, sniffed, his strange violet eyes getting even bigger and even more watery.

"Alright!" Byakko yelped. "I'll do it! Just-" he flapped a hand full of sharp nails in Tsuzuki's face, "Stop doing that!"

In the blink of an eye, the pouty, tearful face was gone and Tsuzuki was grinning unabashedly. "Thank you! Byakko!"

Byakko groaned and rubbed his forehead wearily. "I keep on _falling _for that!" he muttered to himself.

Ron, who had edged forwards eagerly at the sight of Byakko's tail, leaned over to Kyo, whispering from the side of his mouth. "Is Professor Tsuzuki always like that?"

Kyo grinned. "You have no idea."

At his voice, Byakko snapped his head up and looked straight in their direction. Seeing Kyo, Byakko perked up and waved a hand eagerly. "Hey, Kyo!"

Stepping out from Harry's side, Kyo smiled back and sketched a deep, respectful bow. "Byakko-sama. It's good to see you again looking so well."

"Okay people, settle down," Tsuzuki cut in and earned a glare from Byakko. "Well, as most of you already know, my name is Tsuzuki Asato – or rather, Asato Tsuzuki to use the Western convention for names. As a part of the Asian-Europe Cultural Exchange, I've agreed to help out your usual professor of Magical Creatures." There was a smattering of curious murmurs from the class. An impish grin crossed Tsuzuki's face before he managed to school it into a serious look. As if it were possible for him to really be serious. Tall and slender, his rumpled suit coat hung from his frame, clearly visible under the half-open black professor's robe. With his tie half-undone and chestnut-brown hair falling into his amused eyes, he hardly looked the part of a professor. Yet there was also a certain confidence about him. Tsuzuki might not be regulation material, but he had obviously taught squirming teenagers before, and he didn't find them at all threatening.

"Professor Hagrid has kindly allowed me to take the first class as he has a family emergency with his, ah. . .brother, Gwarp?" Tsuzuki stumbled a bit over the name and Harry and Ron exchanged grins. Knowing Gwarp, they could pretty well guess what kind of an emergency it was. Hopefully, Hagrid would come back in relatively one piece.

"Because of the short notice, I haven't been able to locate an appropriate English-language text book for this class. As a result, we're going to just have to wing it. Okay, now, who can tell me what the six realms of existence are? And Kyo-kun, I'm afraid you'll have to sit this one out. No fair using your prior class work." Grimacing, Kyo subsided. His hand had just begun to twitch upwards when Tsuzuki had cut him off. The other students exchanged glances, but no one was willing to volunteer.

"What. . . not even a guess?" Tsuzuki chided them. "Now, I have to tell you that the six realms we're going to be discussing today are, indeed, drawn from Eastern traditions, so it isn't too surprising that none of you have heard about them. But that doesn't make them any less real. At the lowest level, we have beings in Hell. This is the worst of the realms, where the inhabitants are racked by torture. Second is the level of hungry spirits. These are called Preta in Sanskrit; Gaki in Japanese. 

Next is the realm of Animals. This includes not only PRIVATE "TYPE=PICT;ALT=Animals and Livestock"livestock, but many of the lesser magical creatures that you've been studying in earlier classes. Then comes Asuras. This is again a SanskritPRIVATE "TYPE=PICT;ALT=Asura or Asuras" term. Asuras is the realm of evil, and is filled with anger. The fifth realm is that of Humans.PRIVATE "TYPE=PICT;ALT=Humans"PRIVATE "TYPE=PICT;ALT=Deva or Devas" And sixth is Devas, the realm of heavenly beings filled with pleasure. Just as humans have the capacity for both good and evil, so do the inhabitants of Devas. They also belong to the world of suffering, for they grow old and die, even though their lives can be immeasurably long. Some say that because their pleasure is greatest, so too is their misery." Tsuzuki's violet eyes skipped over the sea of faces in front of him, noting with amusement that some of the students were already on the point of dozing off on the grass.

"Does anyone have any ideas as to what comes after the six levels of existence?" He pointed at one of the girls seated on the ground across from Kyo and Harry. "What about you, young lady. Got any ideas?" Mutely, she shook her head, then blushed a bright pink when the professor winked at her.

"Mr. Potter, any thoughts?" Tsuzuki's question seemed harmless enough, but Harry felt Kyo tense infinitesimally beside him. 

Shrugging, he decided to hazard a guess. "Death. Oblivion." he tossed out. _Cedric, Sirius._ Sadness flashed across the professor's handsome face.

"Not quite." he replied gently. "If all goes well, the soul breaks free from the cycle of death and rebirth, and attains enlightenment." Harry felt himself go rigid. Had Kyo and Takashi talked to Tsuzuki about. . .? It seemed as if his words were intended specifically for his ears, as a comment on his problems. But before he could explode into tears, or fury, or whatever it was that his numbed brain was fumbling for, Tsuzuki had moved on, humor again brightening his features. 

"Since it would be next to impossible to bring an example of a being that has attained that highest state to this class, I've got the next best thing. My friend here, Byakko, is a Devas. Specifically, he's what's called a Shikigami in Japanese. You might say that this puts him on par with a lesser god. He is the Guardian of the West, and his specialty is the control of the atmosphere in general, and winds in particular. In some traditions, he's also known as Koumokuten, but it can get really confusing -" He waved the strange man with the striped tail forward.

Byakko yawned hugely, displaying rows of pearly white – and extremely sharp looking – white teeth. "Gods, Tsuzuki," he groaned. "You must be ChiJou's most boring lecturer. Why don't we just _show them?" And with that he transformed._

Gaping with disbelief, Harry found himself in sudden retreat, stumbling back over the grass, Ron squeaking beside him, right along with all of his fellow students. Well, correction. Almost all of his fellow students. Kyo didn't seem surprised that in place of a muscular but still admittedly small, human-looking man, a massive white tiger now dominated Hagrid's front lawn. It yawned again, this time uncurling a surprisingly red, long tongue and fanning out whiskers that were easily as long as a human. The whole class gaped in disbelief as Tsuzuki eyed them owlishly.

"What's wrong?" he asked, clear surprise on his face. "Byakko isn't scary at all! Don't you think he's cute?"

Harry had to shake his head and wonder about what kind of person would actually find a humongous white tiger that could probably swallow him whole and still feel hungry, cute.

Pale, tiger lips curled into what was obviously the cat's equivalent to a smirk. 

"Roar."

                               ******************************************

Kyo was still sputtering with helpless giggles when he and Harry arrived at the trio's normal meeting place under the shade of an old tree on Hogwart's vast lawn. Ron had wandered off after class, mumbling something about finding Hermione and asking whether giant tigers actually do exist. The Asian boy threw himself down on the grass, and gave his amusement full rein. Harry found an answering grin twitching his lips as he sat down cross legged beside the other. Not that he got the joke. There was just something so infectiously cheerful about Kyo that it was hard not feel better in his company. It was a decidedly better mood to be in than the rushing silence he had nearly drowned in earlier this morning.

Harry squinted against the weak glare of the September sun, spotting a familiar looking figure approaching them across the expanse of grass. After a second look, he concluded that it was indeed Hisoka. The way he strode along, eyes fixed on the ground, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans with his thin shoulders hunched under the black robe that flapped – open – around his frame, was unmistakable. Harry nudged Kyo. "Hey, isn't that Hisoka?"

Kyo sat up, ignoring the bits of grass that clung to his dark hair and robe. "Sure is." He waved vigorously. "Hey, Hisoka! Over here!"

The other boy gave no indication that he had heard the shout other than to alter his course by a fraction so that he was now headed for the inviting shade of the big tree. When he arrived, he simply stood silently, staring down at Harry and Kyo with still, closed-off features. Kyo let the thinly disguised hostility roll off his back with practiced good humour.

"And where is the lovely Ms. Lovegood who had so graciously offered to show you around and clean up your aura, hmm?" Kyo leaned back on his elbows, a mischievous grin lighting his face.

"I left her at the girls' lavatory." His low, monotonous voice gave nothing away, but Harry had a sneaking suspicion that the smaller boy had been told to wait, and instead had seized the opportunity to ditch Luna. Harry felt a twinge of guilt. Not that Loony Luna was his favorite person at Hogwarts, but after the events of the preceding year, Harry had at least learned to respect her. 

"Ah, hah," Kyo was saying, nodding wisely as though there were special significance to Hisoka's words. Green eyes glared at him.

"It's not that I have anything against her, it's just that she never _shuts up_. My shields are pretty strong, but there are limits, Kyo." he snapped irritably.

Surprised, Harry blinked. He would never have thought of Luna as the babbling sort. Some of the other girls, sure. They seemed to develop diarrhea of the mouth whenever there was a cute boy around, and Hisoka definitely qualified in that department. In fact, with his slight, graceful form, he looked more like a girl than some of the female students did. That train of thought promptly derailed when Harry noticed that the Japanese boy was so tense that he was practically vibrating.

"Hisoka. . . ." The amusement was wiped from Kyo's features as well, replaced instead with genuine concern. "Are you okay?" 

Hisoka nodded shakily. "Yeah. It's just going to take me a little longer than I thought to tune my shields. Some of these Western wizards are strong projectors." He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "It's given me a headache." the boy complained.

Catching Harry's puzzled frown, Kyo took it upon himself to explain. "Hisoka is an empath. Normally, his shields are good enough to keep out pretty much anything, but Hogwarts isn't exactly the normal world." Hisoka growled something under his breath that sounded like 'You can say that again.' Whatever it was, Kyo apparently caught it because he gave a snort of laughter.

Harry though, goggled at Hisoka. "You're an empath? Is that like a telepath?"

"One's about emotions, one's reading your mind," Kyo shrugged. "Hisoka here is a pretty strong empath. And something of a telepath as well."

"Sure, talk about me as though I'm not here at all," came the sardonic reply.

"I will if you'll hush up," Kyo said cheerfully.

Harry watched the younger boy with new respect. He wasn't sure if such a talent could be considered as magic but he had never heard of empaths in the magical world before. There were Seers and Trelwaneys aplenty but the subject of empathy or telepathy never really came up, so far as he could remember. _Maybe 'cause we have Occlumency and  Wingardium Leviosa for it? _Harry wondered bemusedly. Hermione would know. Then he froze inwardly as he realized, _can he tell what I'm thinking about right now?_

Hisoka must have noted his sudden, stricken expression because he shook his head faintly and sighed with the faintest hint of exasperation. "Believe me, I don't find it fun diving into people's mind. People tend to broadcast out to me instead. It's noisy as hell and gives me migraines. I try my damn best to make sure I _don't read anyone. And damn it, that Luna girl really gave me a good one."_

 Kyo shifted a bit. "Not to change the subject or anything, but you had Defense Against the Dark Arts, didn't you?"

Harry felt his pulse quicken with interest, shoving aside the worry of having his personal demons played out like a movie to someone he barely knew. Dark Arts was definitely something he understood. Hisoka rolled his eyes before answering.

"Yeah. Takashi tried to explain the principal behind the making and use of fuda. I don't think a single person in the room had a clue what he was talking about. Even _I_ didn't follow half the stuff he was saying, and I've been studying omnyoujitsu for years." The blond boy pulled up a blade of grass and proceeded to methodically tear it to bits. His voice hadn't varied from the same monotonous style of delivery that he used for everything, but Harry was beginning to think that he was catching on to the more subtle signs. This time, he felt exasperation, and a grudging affection behind the words. Dimly, he felt respect bubbling up for the wheat-haired boy. It must have been hell for him, discovering that he was an empath and to feel everything that anyone felt. It would have probably driven Harry insane. He didn't need empathy to know that the Dursleys hated him.

Kyo slipped down to lie flat on the cool earth. He snickered. "You think that's bad, you should have seen Tsuzuki. He lectured our class on the six states of being. And he summoned Byakko to illustrate the realm of the Devas."

"He what?!" 

Kyo glanced at the other boy, drawling with lazy – but wicked – good humor. "It could have been worse. He might have summoned Suzaku." He burst into laughter at Hisoka's stiff glare.

"That is so _not_ funny. Do you have any idea what the repair bill would be for this place?" The blond's lips tightened into a line that declared firmly 'I am not amused, and don't you try to change my mind about it.' If anything, Kyo laughed harder.

His mirth had subsided to the point where he could breathe again when he spotted Harry's look of growing confusion. Since there was no way that Hisoka was going to explain, he took pity on the English wizard. "It's like this," he said, sitting back up. "Tsuzuki has the ability to summon some pretty impressive beings. Suzaku is a phoenix."

"Oh, like Fawkes?" At his reference to the ever-changing creature, a puzzled frown came over Kyo's mobile features. After a moment, it cleared.

"Oh, you mean the little one that shares Dumbledore's office." He shook his head. "Well, no, not exactly. Suzaku is more of a. . .well. . .an 'archetype,' I guess you could call her."

Huffing impatiently, Hisoka interrupted. "What the idiot is saying is that Suzaku is _big. _That Fawkes of Dumbledore's is a kitten compared to Suzaku. If Tsuzuki summoned her, here, he'd be spending the rest of his life paying for the property damage. A very long life. And the idiot hasn't finished paying off the bill from the last time." 

Kyo howled with amusement. "No kidding! Tsuzuki means well, but he's a walking disaster area!"

The blond boy shot him a glare loaded with annoyance, but opted to ignore the comment. From observing Hisoka through breakfast, Harry had pretty much concluded that 'irritated' was Hisoka's normal state of being. But when Kyo leaned over and whispered something in his ear, a smile of unsurpassed sweetness flitted across the younger boy's features, gone so quickly that Harry would have thought that he had imagined it, were it not for an echo that lingered in his lovely green eyes.

"Yes, he is that, isn't he?" Hisoka murmured softly. "He really is wonderful. Sometimes."

Kyo snickered, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like 'romantic. . .' Then he dropped down so that his head landed squarely in Hisoka's lap.

It was hard to say who was more surprised; the younger blond, or Harry. Both of them were staring with essentially identical stunned looks at the grinning boy who lay stretched out, legs neatly crossed at the ankles. Kyo crossed his eyes in an attempt to look upside down and backwards at Hisoka. Hisoka stiffened, gathering himself up as his cheeks flushed with what had to be anger rather than embarrassment at the familiar contact. "Shiozaki Kyo," he stated icily. "What do you think you're doing?"

The mischief in Kyo's expression transformed itself. He caught Hisoka's hand and pressed a soft kiss to his palm. "Distracting you." The gentle reply was tender, and Harry was not surprised to hear Kyo begin humming that lullaby again as he relaxed back into his impromptu pillow. The same odd change stole over the other boy's features, and some of the tension leached out of his thin shoulders. He allowed his free hand to brush lightly over Kyo's hair, smoothing it back from his forehead.

"Idiot," Hisoka sighed. The word lacked the forcefulness it had held earlier.

"Hmmm." Kyo grinned sleepily, eyes drifting shut. "Am that."

"You didn't sleep well, did you?" The soft accusation still had a bit of Hisoka's normal bite to it. His slender fingers combed through the dark hair again, gentle as a butterfly's kiss, barely disturbing the strands.

"Nope." Kyo yawned hugely. The humming had stopped, although he kept his grip on the other's hand. A faint smile twitched his lips when the trapped fingers tried unsuccessfully to wriggle free. Hisoka rolled his eyes and gave up the struggle.

Watching them, Harry realized that he didn't have a clue what to do. Their interaction was both intimate and casual at the same time, the kind of behavior that only seemed natural between people who had a long history together. He would almost say they acted like girlfriend and boyfriend – except that they were both boys. And Hisoka was supposed to be married to Tsuzuki while Kyo to Takashi. Was there some sort of secret/public affair going on? Do Tsuzuki and Takashi share this sort of intimacy as well? Confused, Harry blinked, and found himself meeting Hisoka's steady, knowing gaze. 

"Kyo is very good with his emotional and mental shields," Hisoka explained softly. His trapped hand was relaxed in Kyo's loosening grip even as his other hand continued the gentle brushing. "He's shielding me in turn with a silence of sorts."

"Oh," Harry replied awkwardly. "That's uh. . ." he gestured vaguely. "That's nice but. . ." he trailed off, a blush staining his cheeks. "Is it necessary to have that close of a, er, contact for your empathy to work?" he stammered.

Hisoka's lips curved in that rapidly familiar slight smile. "It's more effective," he conceded. "That and Kyo is just a big baby," he sighed. "He doesn't like being away from Takashi too long." It was so softly spoken that Harry almost missed it. Did he imagine that look of wistful longing and sadness in Hisoka's bright green eyes?

"Harry! Have you seen -" Hermione's exasperated shout reached his ears just as he was about to ask Hisoka what he meant exactly. The quick patter of her footsteps stopped dead just a few feet behind Harry, who could make a decent guess as to why. It wasn't every day that you found two handsome guys together, one seated and the other laid out, like the dot and line of an exclamation point. And, especially not holding hands. . .  Hermione tore those treasonous thoughts from her mind, instead fixing Hisoka with a glare that could easily match him for bad temper. "Kurosaki!" she barked. "Why did you take off on Luna? Aside from the fact that it was rude, Hogwarts is no place for a stranger to be wandering around in without a guide."

Technically, the blond youth ought to have been at a disadvantage with the girl towering over him. It didn't stop him from glowering up at her as an equal. "You told me to go with her to class." he snapped back. "Class was over."

_Uh, oh. The Irresistible Force meets the Immovable Object. This ought to be interesting. . . .  Harry thought irreverently. Hermione's determination had bowled him over on enough occasions that he found himself rooting for Kyo's friend. _

"Fine." she answered. "You promised to attend Professor Snape's Potions class with Luna in ten minutes. If we hurry, we can find Luna on the way before class and you can apologize." The way she planted her fists on her hips indicated that she would accept no arguments. Hisoka's shoulders shifted subtly, acknowledging that he had agreed to go to Potions. But at the same time he made no move to get up.

"I can't. Kyo just fell asleep." The hand that had been toying absently with the other boy's hair the entire time settled protectively on his forehead. True enough, Kyo was sprawled in envious slumber, seemingly to have done this a number of times before. Looking closely, Harry realized that the faint lines of tension he had barely noticed earlier was gone, smoothened out by sleep.

"Besides, we're not attending these classes for credit," Hisoka went on calmly. "It was agreed that we could go to any class we like to, as long as it's with our guides. I can go to Potions any other day."

"You can come to mine tomorrow," Harry offered helpfully. He ignored the sudden cold that trickled down his back; he knew for sure that Hermione had leveled her glare at him. "I can use all the support I can get."

Hisoka nodded in agreement and apparently deemed the conversation over. Shifting slightly so that he could lean back against the tree trunk comfortably, Hisoka went on brushing Kyo's hair. Hermione was nonplussed. It wasn't often, in fact, hardly ever, that a fellow student actually stood up to her when she had one her best 'I know what's good for you and don't you argue with me' look.

The silence might have turned awkward if Ron hadn't chosen that moment to turn up. His tie was askew in the collar of his robe, and his red hair mussed, indicating that he had been in a hurry to get to their customary meeting place. He stopped dead at the sight of Kyo and Hisoka, his fair cheeks flaming a color that rivaled his hair. Unexpectedly, his gaze shifted sideways to Hermione, and the blush deepened. Harry lifted an eyebrow in silent wonder.

_Is it what I think it is. . . .?_

"Well, come on and join us then—"

"Quietly," Hisoka interjected.

"—quietly," Harry amended and patted the grass next to him and Hermione and Ron took up the invitation.

Carefully arranging her robes, Hermione glanced at Hisoka, carefully avoiding Kyo. "Is he. . .okay?" she blushed. "I mean, is it jet-lag or—"

"He couldn't sleep last night," Hisoka shrugged. "He has this regrettable tendency of letting his insomnia get out of control. Better for him to get as much sleep as possible."

"Oh."

"So, Hisoka," Ron shifted uncomfortably and risked another of those blushing looks at the sleeping Kyo and a quick sneak at Hermione. Harry's suspicions were quickly deepening. "Is. . .uh, I thought Tsuzuki was supposed to be your. . .uh. . s-s-sl. ."

"Love slave?" Hisoka asked mildly.

"Er. . .yeah," Ron stammered.

Hisoka only smiled mysteriously and refused to answer.


	8. Chapter 8:Professor Takashi at your serv...

**When Death Comes A'Knocking**

**Chapter Eight: Professor Takashi at your service**

_A story by Shiozaki@ Kyo-kun_

**_Summary: __A crossover with my _****End of the Worlds Shinigami and ****Harry Potter. The British Shinigami are in a heap of trouble and ask our heroes for help. This is a 6th year fic and my own take on the secret of the Prophecy and why Harry is Harry.**

**_Plot-Mistresses: __Shiozaki & Shaynie_**

**_Spell-maker: __Literary Eagle_**

**_Warning:__ The longest first day at Hogwarts._**

**_Review replies: _**

**_Note: _**_Takashi's class is a co-written effort by Shiozaki and librarycat. The original format done by librarycat can be found at the mailing list._

**_List of Terms:_**

_*Just a little list for the Japanese/onmyouji terms which will be used throughout the story, in case anyone doesn't recognize them. Tell me if it's incorrect!_

**_Kekkai: _**_Shield_

**_Kehai: _**_Aura_

**_Maboroshi: _**_An illusion, usually one that encompasses a person(s), meaning a completely new world you'll find yourself under, rather than just an image you see in front of you. The maboroshi fools all of the senses. Used extensively by the **Sakurazukamori **in **Tokyo Babylon **and **X/1999. **Like any good illusion, if the caster of the maboroshi is good enough, you can be killed by or in it._

****

_*If anyone can give me more, I'd be happy to include them here!_

                                              ********************************

Harry Potter, despite his fame (or infamy, depending on how the Daily Prophet portrayed him for that week), knew his limits and his strengths. He was a good Quidditch player, an average student of Charms, Transfigurations, Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures and a dismal student of Potions. But his main strength, his own pride and joy (besides Quidditch) was Defense Against the Dark Arts. In fact, it could be said that Harry is _the _best student of that subject in Hogwarts currently.

Surviving five encounters with the Dark Lord tend to give you quite a bit of an edge in such a subject.

So it was with more than token enthusiasm that he approached the first Defense class of that year, more in fact, than Care of Magical Creatures just that morning. He loved Hagrid dearly but the half-giant really needed to rethink his perceptions on what makes a creature lovable or just plain murderous. He was almost fidgeting by the time lunchtime came around.

Kyo had been woken up just before they headed in. Trudging their way to the Great Hall, Kyo's earlier mood of jolly good cheer and general mischief was distinctly absent. He had on a vaguely blank look and Harry could probably guess why. It took Hisoka a good five minutes to wake him up. The younger boy had refused to let Harry, Ron or Hermione help, his reason being that he didn't want Kyo to be too badly startled. Sitting down in their customary places at the Gryffindor table, the three friends dug into their lunches enthusiastically enough. Hermione had apparently forgiven Hisoka for ditching Luna earlier as she cheerfully explained to the boy what Arithmancy was all about. Harry had his suspicions that he only asked for just that reason but he did looked interested enough. . .

Kyo though, was poking his salad absent-mindedly. Harry noticed Kyo's light blue eyes darting once in a while to the direction of the High Table. Takashi had yet to make an appearance.

Before he could say anything though, Hisoka, who was still listening attentively to Hermione's explanation, reached over and placed his hand palm down on the crown of Kyo's head. Ron and Harry watched interestedly (Hermione still lost in the intricacies of ley lines) as Kyo stilled suddenly like a deer in headlights, his fork lying limply in his hand. The vague look on his face deepened until he was practically emotionless and Ron nudged Harry nervously.

"Hey, what the hell is Hisoka doing?" Ron hissed. "Is he putting a spell on Kyo or something?"

"Shh," Harry hushed Ron absently and watched avidly.

Kyo blinked once and stirred. Hisoka removed his hand and interrupted Hermione to ask her what on earth were ley lines? The blank look was gone and something close to Kyo's earlier good humour appeared. Noting that he had both Ron and Harry's attentions on him, Kyo paused, fork midway to his mouth.

"Yes?" he asked politely.

"Nothing, Kyo," Harry spoke up hastily before Ron could open his mouth. The look he exchanged with Ron was one of confusion; Ron's completely bewildered and Harry's, feigned. He wasn't an idiot; he knew that they would not want anyone to know of Hisoka's abilities. The younger boy's look of warning had been enough of a reminder.

Harry watched Kyo carefully throughout lunch but the earlier vagueness didn't return. The good mood stayed and when Takashi finally entered the Hall, deep in conversation with Professor Lupin, Kyo's smile got bigger, though oddly wistful. Takashi and Lupin came in from the doors at the back of the Hall. They took the aisle between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw table, whether on purpose or not, Harry wasn't sure. Takashi didn't break off his conversation with Lupin even as they passed by and neither Hisoka nor Kyo made any move to greet him but Harry saw Takashi's hand briefly reached out and traced a ghostly touch between Kyo's shoulder blades.

Kyo's smile got wider.

And definitely more wistful.

_He doesn't like being away from Takashi too long. Hisoka had said something like that earlier. _

Watching Kyo and Takashi, and from his experience with them earlier in the summer, Harry felt he could safely say he never saw anyone as in love or as dependant on each other as these two. Was that true love? Harry wasn't sure. His one brief foray into the mysterious and uncharted worlds of love and dating had ended in a minor disaster with the Ravenclaw Cho Chang. Hisoka and Takashi, though he had never seen them together, seemed to be able to function well enough without the other (though, Harry reminded himself, this could be due to the fact that Hisoka was an empath and telepath. He could just as easily talk to Tsuzuki in his mind).

_Would I have something like that one day? Harry mused silently to himself. He glanced over to Ron, who was unaware of Harry's sudden scrutiny and was flashing Hermione a brief, and very tender smile. Hermione caught it and in the midst if her explanation to Hisoka, blushed a pretty red._

Harry sighed, putting down his fork and knife and taking up his goblet of pumpkin juice instead. He sipped the cold drink absently. He wasn't really surprised at this new development in his two best friends' relationship. But it did left him feeling oddly left out. 

He chanced another glance at Kyo and Takashi. Both were making the effort to not look in each other's direction.

In a flash of sudden insight, Harry felt relieved that he wasn't in love as of yet. He didn't know whether he could stand it.

                                    *******************************************

"Well, what are you waiting for? Come on in."

Harry hesitated before the door of the classroom, his friends and classmates milling about him. It was announced before lunch was over that the Defense class had been moved to a new classroom in the south wing. It had taken the assortment of Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, Gryffindors and Slytherin a good ten minutes to find the room. Tucked in a little hallway just off the statue of a goblin sitting on a witch, the whole place looked like it hadn't been used for years by the amount of dust evident. As they were making their way to class, Harry had been unpleasantly surprised to find that Malfoy (with the exception of Crabbe and Goyle) was taking the class with them. But the blond boy had been unusually reticent. No scathing remarks or insults were sent his way; if anything, Malfoy seemed to be taking the utmost care to not look over their way.

Not that Harry found that a great loss. He'd much prefer it if he didn't have to talk to Malfoy for the rest of his life.

Takashi, _Professor Takashi, Harry amended silently, was watching them with an amused eye. "Seriously, I'm not going to bite."_

With Kyo prodding him impatiently from behind, Harry finally walked in, eyes searching the room. He noted right away that it wasn't going to be their usual class. Instead of desks and chairs arranged in straight rows, there were a decidedly less number of them and it was arranged in a squared off 'U', hugging the walls. The ceiling itself was enchanted, like the Great Hall's but it appeared to be charmed to show a permanently blue sky as the real one outside was turning dark with clouds.

The class took seats, exchanging looks while Harry, Ron and Hermione took seats together. Kyo had opted to sit next to Harry (at the very first desk nearest to Takashi, Harry noted with a small smile) and Hisoka had sat down next to Hermione, Ron between her and Harry. Takashi kept on smiling as the class settled down with a mixture of hopeful looks and some contemptuous sneer from the Slytherins. 

"Welcome to your first Defense Against the Dark Arts class for the year," Takashi began, leaning casually against the desk behind him. Like Tsuzuki, Takashi had discarded with the closed robes favoured by the other professors; he wore instead a black, open robe showing the soft gray turtleneck sweater and black trousers he wore underneath. "For those who don't know, my name is Takashi Matsumada, just call me Takashi or Professor, whatever you like.

Now, some of you might have heard about my less than spectacular performance this morning with the other class—"

There was a soft snort from Hisoka's direction and Takashi chuckled merrily. "Thank you Hisoka, for that affirmation. So, keeping in mind where I went wrong this morning, Professor Lupin and I have decided that another format for the classes I'll be teaching would be far more appropriate."

Harry looked around and sure enough, Remus Lupin was sitting in a chair by the far corner of the room, obviously letting Takashi handle the class by himself.

"The reason for why this class is arranged so," Takashi went on, "is because onmyoujitsu, or Japanese magic for the lack of a better term, was never formalised into schools as you have here in Hogwarts. We were taught on a one to one basis; from master to student. The theory we learned, we didn't keep in books or files. We kept it here," Takashi tapped the side of his forehead and he was pleased to see that he had the class's full attention now.

"Each master or sensei has their own style of teaching and magic and that is how you can tell from what 'school' or sensei a particular onmyouji studied under. Yes, Miss Granger?" Takashi nodded at Hermione who had a hand up waving frantically in the air.

"Professor," Hermione started breathlessly, "You've been mentioning omyyuji—"

"Onmyoujitsu," Takashi corrected gently and Hermione blushed.

"Onmyoujitsu," Hermione enunciated the word carefully. "Kyo has told us earlier that it's a magic based on spiritualism and. . .what does it mean exactly?"

Not a few people in class seemed surprised that there was actually something that Hermione Granger did not know. Catching the looks on some of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuff, Hermione huffed under her breath, "What? I don't know _everything! Honestly."_

"What Kyo told you is correct; onmyoujitsu is a branch of magic dealing with spiritualism. And an onmyouji is one who practises onmyoujitsu, like myself, Kyo, Hisoka and Tsuzuki."

Hisoka was wearing his usual impassive mask while Kyo stared at Takashi, his head cocked to the side quizzically. Kyo seemed to think something was going on, judging by the pensive look on his face and Takashi threw him a quick wink.

"But before I bore you to tears like I did to my first class this morning," Takashi continued with an even bigger grin, "I think a little demonstration is in order. First off, can anyone tell me what this is?" He held up his hands, two pieces of thin creamy paper held gently between two fingers each. Harry immediately recognised them as ofuda but before he could raise his hand, a cold drawling voice spoke up.

"It's paper, as anyone can see."

Malfoy. Harry felt the familiar beginnings of a snarl that was synonymous with his enemy but before he could even shoot the pale Slytherin a cold glare, Kyo squeezed his hand gently under the table. The look he gave Harry was clear enough. _Let Takashi handle this._

Takashi was still grinning. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy. Thank you for pointing out the obvious," he said cheerfully. "Two points for Slytherin then. Anyone else?"

From the corner of his eye, Harry could make out Malfoy's slightly flabbergasted look. He hadn't expected the new professor to roll with his sarcasm that deftly, much less give him points for it. Harry couldn't help the triumphant little smirk that insisted on showing itself. As Harry was busy congratulating Takashi silently on putting Malfoy in his place, a Ravenclaw shot up his hand. Harry vaguely recognised him as Ehren Tsang.

"Those are Japanese calligraphy?" It was more of a question, rather than an answer from Ehren.

"It's not actually," Takashi shook his head. "This," he waved the ofuda around so that everyone could see it clearly, "is what is called an ofuda, the main tool onmyoujis use. The writings are Sanskrit, an ancient language from India brought over to Japan a couple of thousand years ago with Buddhism. We use Sanskrit for the older spells in onmyouji and kanji, that's Japanese calligraphy, for some of the newer ones. Now, before I go on, can I have a couple of volunteers please?"

Twenty hands shot up, including Hermione's eager waving and Ron's enthusiastic whispers of "Me! Me!" The most notable exception was Malfoy, Hisoka and Kyo. Kyo was leaning back in his seat, eyes drifting up to the ceiling with a distracted and slightly bored look on his face.

Takashi selected two of their classmates; a pretty, vivacious Hufflepuff girl named Amanda Fitzhugh and a Ravenclaw boy, Bertie Mandrake. Bertie was blushing furiously, the tips of his ears turning such a vibrant red that Harry half expected him to spontaneously combust. Kyo had dropped his eyes from the dancing clouds in the ceiling, tracking Amanda and Bertie's every move as they hesitantly came to stand before Takashi. Kyo was growling ominously under his breath. 

Risking a quick glance to Kyo, Harry had to stifle the chuckle that threatened to break out. Kyo was glaring _Avada Kedavra_ at the two volunteers and Takashi was pointedly ignoring Kyo. "Miss Fitzhugh. . .if you would be so kind?" He handed her one of the ofuda. "Hold it like this -" He demonstrated, extending the piece of paper pinched between the index and long fingers of his right hand. "Good. And you, Mr. Mandrake?" The two volunteers stood awkwardly, ofuda extended in the classical pose. Takashi eyed them critically, adjusting their stance by minute degrees before giving them a satisfied smile. He leaned down and whispered in their ears, then straightened. "Okay, then. If you're ready? One, two, three!"

On three, his assistants shouted "Happy New Year!" in unison. There was a loud bang, a shower of sparks, and confetti rained down from a swirling pink and green cloud that quickly expanded to conceal the high ceiling. Laughter burst from the class, accompanied by a smattering of applause. Takashi drew the two students forward and all three of them took a deep, theatrical bow. The look Amanda gave the handsome teacher was nothing short of adoring as she bounced back to her seat. As the cloud dissipated, the confetti evaporated, to the disappointment of the still giggling class.

"Now," Takashi rubbed his hands gleefully. "Can anyone point out the most obvious fact of what happened just now?"

The class fell silent as the students exchanged looks. Finally, Hermione raised a tentative hand in the air. Takashi pointed to her and Hermione, shooting a dubious look over to Harry, cleared her throat nervously.

"You didn't use a wand," Hermione answered quietly.

"Five points to Gryffindor," Takashi nodded. "Yes, no wand was used. In fact, can you tell me Ms. Granger, whether you or any of your friends have ever seen Hisoka, Kyo or Tsuzuki use a wand?"

Hermione shook her head, realization dawning on her face. "No."

"That's right. This is because, simply put, we don't use wands. We use this, ofuda."

There was immediate uproar as students exclaimed in disbelief and not a few pointed out the ludicrousness of the idea. Shouts of "That's impossible!" and "No way!" could be heard despite the show Takashi had given them just a few minutes ago. Takashi managed to calm them down and proceeded to launch into his explanation. Harry had heard it all before from both Kyo and Takashi earlier in the summer; the geographical differences of Britain and Japan, the influence of Buddishm and Shinto there and their own local history. Since he knew the information already (Hermione was busy scribbling notes as if her life depended on it, echoed by the Ravenclaws), Harry took the chance to nudge Kyo gently under the desk.

"Hey, Kyo?" he whispered, careful to not interrupt Takashi's lecture.

Kyo leaned imperceptibly closer but said nothing, only raising an eyebrow in enquiry.

"Do you have a wand?" It was something he had been meaning to ask but never got around to.

Kyo raised both eyebrows this time. "Of course I have a wand. It's a pretty good one too."

"Can I see it?" Harry asked eagerly.

"What? Right here? Right now? Why Harry! I had no idea you were like _that!"_

It took Harry a good minute before he got it. Blushing furiously, he saw that Takashi was still engrossed in his lecture, as were the rest of the class and he jabbed Kyo's side. Hard. Kyo pouted playfully, rubbing his side with a fake grimace of pain.

"Ouch."

"Seriously!"

Grinning, Kyo obediently dug into the inner pockets of his robes and withdrew his wand. The literal one. He handed it over to Harry for his inspection. Leaning closer so that they won't be overheard, Kyo quietly explained.

"It's ebony, dragon heartstring, 13 and a half inches."

Harry turned the wand over and over in his wands. He didn't see a lot of ebony wands in school. In fact, he only saw a couple of people use it here and there. Kyo's wand was a deep black, positively glowing in its darkness. The light reflected of its polished surface, gleaming darkly. It didn't offer him the instant bond he had with his wand but that wasn't surprising. What was surprising was that despite being held by someone other than its owner, the wand was warm to the touch. Almost hot.

"Why is it so warm?" Harry asked curiously, handing back the wand, handle first, to Kyo. He was careful to avoid the tip, not wanting unnecessary reaction occurring. At Harry's question, Kyo shot him a startled look.

"You can feel it?" he asked, clear surprise on his face.

Harry nodded reluctantly. It was obvious by the look if surprise that Kyo hadn't expected Harry to feel anything odd about his wand. But then, he _was Harry Potter. What was so surprising about him getting odd looks and feelings now and then? He really ought to be used to it by now, Harry thought glumly to himself._

Kyo frowned at him faintly before the lines smoothed away to be replaced with an equally faint smile. "I'm. . . ." he hesitated, looking for the right words. "I'm 'charging' my wand so to speak. We're not compatible with wands so we need to get the wands used to us and vice versa."

"'Charging'?" Harry asked.

Kyo nodded but before he could explain, Takashi had ended his lecture and was in fact, calling on Kyo to come up to the front of the class. Giving Harry an apologetic look, Kyo slid out of his seat and strode up confidently.

Takashi and Kyo were nearly the same height so Kyo could look easily into Takashi's eyes. Tilting his head back slightly nevertheless, Kyo asked in a deceptively mild voice, "Yes, Professor?"

                                                          *******************************

"Yes, Professor?" His voice was deceptively mild, but the look in his eyes was not. Takashi saw that and despite himself, grinned. He knew that the minute they had some time alone, Kyo was going to give him hell about his two 'volunteers'. Hogwarts was going to test Kyo's patience to the limits. But then, Takashi had to admit, he was going to be severely tested as well. Kyo might not have realized it but Takashi and Hisoka weren't the only one drawing appreciative looks from the students. The same Amanda Fitzhugh had been checking out Kyo as well throughout class and not a few boys gave Kyo, Hisoka and him the once over.

"Did you bring your holster as I asked you to, Kyo-kun?" Takashi asked politely.

Kyo's blue eyes narrowed. So Takashi was going to ignore the warning was he? Chancing a small glare, Kyo nodded, still keeping his tone mild. "Of course, Professor."

"Would you?" Takashi gestured and Kyo grudgingly stood next to Takashi, facing the class. Kyo wore the complete uniform of Hogwarts; black, open robes covering the gray sweater vest, white shirt, Gryffindor tie and black trousers. It was similar to Araiso's Private High School's uniform, the both of them had noted after getting it and it had brought back several unpleasant memories. Standing there by Takashi, Kyo noticed (finally) that he and Takashi were the subject of some lascivious stares and leers.

Kyo sighed internally. _And here we go again,_ he thought darkly. _Maybe I should put on a repelling ward on Taka. . . ._

"As I've told you," Takashi was saying to the class, "Onmyoujitsu is used to deal with spirits mostly because of Japan's rather unique situation. Because of that, most of the spells in onmyoujitsu are primarily for attacking or defense. We've never developed every day spells such as for cleaning or cooking like you have. This is because there was never any need to. Magic is accepted in Japanese society. Not openly acknowledged and advertised but everyone knows it's there all the same. Since an onmyouji can live among ordinary people with no risk or persecution, we never had the need to develop our own lifestyle as you wizards and witches have."

This time, even the Slytherins were paying close attention. The thought of being a wizard yet living totally as a Muggle was a novel concept to all them, except for the Muggle-borns. Kyo was getting bored though, forced to stand in front like a piece of candy on display (a Slytherin actually dared to threw him a suggestive wink!) and he shifted restlessly.

"Now, the problem with ofudas is that if it's stained or wrinkled, the spell won't be as effective. For full-time onmyouji like us," Takashi gestured to Kyo and Hisoka, "We have our own ways to carry them around. The most important thing is that the place you keep your ofudas are easily accessible," he smiled. "You'll find that some spirits have absolutely no regrets trying to kill you. Where you keep your ofudas might very well save your life."

"Professor?" This time, it was Ron, halting Takashi who was about to turn to Kyo.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley?" Takashi asked politely.

"Well, we never really had any troubles with ghosts here," Ron looked uncomfortable at being in the spotlight but went on after agreeable murmurs from the other students. "Except for Peeves that is," he added. "Is it just Japanese ghosts that are violent or. . ."

"I don't know about British ghosts," Takashi answered carefully and Kyo kept his eyes trained on a patch of stained floor in front of him. Hisoka was also assiduously avoiding any sort of eye contact with anyone. "But Japan, as I've mentioned, is practically a huge gateway to other worlds. The veils are _always _thin between them. Here, it occurs only during Samhain, correct?" The class nodded as one. 

"With that much magic and otherworld interference, spirits there lose their hold on reality faster, as well as their identities. When that happens, you get violent ghosts, or _onryo _as we call it. Possessions, malicious hauntings, even murders are perpetrated by _onryo." Noting the rather pale cast of the students, Takashi had to chuckle. "I'm making it sound as though Japan is hell on earth right?"_

Chuckling again at the weak nods he got in response, Takashi went on. "It's not that bad, really," he insisted. "Onmyouji there make good business in exorcism and ritual blessing. But, though there's a higher number of Japanese who are magically inclined, not all of them choose to study magic. Now, going back to my earlier topic; how we onmyouji kick ghostly behinds," Takashi grinned and the class brightened up at the prospect of more demonstrations. Even Remus Lupin was leaning forwards eagerly. The werewolf had proved to be an interested student in onmyoujitsu, resulting in several highly thought-provoking discussion, much like the ones he had with Watari except he wasn't in the danger of being slipped a new potion just concocted.

"Alright, Kyo?" Takashi nudged Kyo gently and he obediently took a step forwards. The open robes billowed gently then hung in still folds off his tall frame. Ignoring the flash of longing that flared deep in his belly, Takashi asked the class, "Can anyone tell me where do you think Kyo keeps his ofudas?"

The class exchanged hesitant looks. "His pockets?" Amanda Fitzhugh volunteered.

"Nope," Kyo answered cheerfully. To demonstrate, he dug his hands into his pockets and wiggled them. "Empty."

"Anyone else?" Takashi called out.

"His robes?"

"Under his shirt?"

"His pants?" This, from a leering Slytherin.

Takashi coughed and Kyo rolled his eyes. "I'm afraid that all of you are incorrect. If you will, Kyo-kun?"

Without further ado, Kyo swept his robes aside and jutted out his right leg, folding his arms across his chest. Blinking, the class looked from Takashi to Kyo's leg.

"Er, Professor?" Harry finally spoke up. "There's nothing on his leg."

"But a very good leg it is," someone whispered and not a few tittered. 

Takashi ignored them to ask Kyo, "Invisible?"

This time, Kyo looked abashed. Grinning, Kyo ran a hand through his hair and nodded sheepishly. "Yes, Professor. I forgot. Shall I take it off?"

With Takashi's nod, Kyo shrugged off his robes, laying them on Takashi's desk. "So I won't stain it," Kyo explained to the class. Clad in just his uniform, Kyo lifted a hand and brought it close to his mouth. He made a quick, slashing motion across his hand and everyone could see that his index finger now had a thin trail of scarlet running down. Several girls gasped, even though it was only a small scratch.

Ignoring the whispers, Kyo leaned down and with his bloody finger, ran it across the circumference of his right upper thigh. Instead of staining the cloth of his trousers with the blood, there was a faint shimmer like a heat wave and a brief white glow. On Kyo's thigh, previously clad only in black cotton, there was now a holster, affixed to his leg with a strap. Kyo took it off and held it out for everyone to see. The strap had writings running around it, Sanskrit it looked like but the writings were now marred with a thin strip of blood, cutting across the words.

"Blood is the easiest and fastest way to cancel a spell," Takashi explained to the enraptured class. "But it works on weak spells only. For major spells, you need the proper rituals and words of unbinding. Does anyone have any questions?"

Immediately, all over the room, hands shot up in the air, even from Malfoy. Noting the eager looks, Kyo murmured in Takashi's ear, "Looks like you're making up quite nicely for this morning."

Takashi grinned back and took the chance to run a lingering hand down Kyo's back. Kyo shuddered minutely and took a quick step away from Takashi. Amidst the curious looks several students were giving him, Kyo shrugged back into his robes but was prevented form returning to his seat by Takashi's restraining hand.

"We still have a demonstration to do, remember?" Takashi whispered, his mouth uncomfortably near his ear and blowing hot breaths across the suddenly sensitive skin. Cursing Dumbledore, Voldemort and Hogwarts, Kyo nodded and stayed beside Takashi. Seeing the still waving hands in the air, Kyo groaned quietly to himself. It was going to be a long class.

                                            ********************************

"Ow."

"That was just so interesting, don't you think?" Hermione chattered excitedly. The trio plus Kyo and Hisoka were lounging in the Gryffindor common room, classes over for the day. Harry, Ron and Kyo were sharing the battered sofa while Hisoka was slumped in a worn, cushy armchair, Hermione in the one next to him. The common room was alive with the chatter of the other students, quite a few of them also talking about the classes they had with the Japanese professors and throwing the Japanese students quick looks. Kyo was draped over the sofa's arm while Harry patted his back sympathetically.

"_Ow."_

"And the way the shield just shattered! Just like that!" Hermione snapped her fingers enthusiastically. Hermione had been like this since Takashi's class ended and the boys had endured her incessant gushing about how exciting and interesting Takahsi's lecture and demonstration was. It hadn't stopped, even when they opted to wait for dinner in the Gryffindor Tower. If anything, she was getting even more excited by the minute. Harry and Ron had to forcibly stop her from dashing off to the library. They knew the minute she set foot in there, she would be more than likely to disappear until curfew.

"I repeat, _OW." Kyo propped his chin on the arm of the sofa to fix an accusing glare at Hermione. "You sadist. May I remind you that it was _my _shield that shattered?"_

Takashi's demonstration had consisted of having Kyo setting up a kekkai* in the middle of class then proceeded to have everyone who could wield a wand to try and destroy it. Kyo's kekkai had withstood all of the students' curses and jinxes, finally cracking under Professor Lupin's _Reducto _spell, and it had completely shattered when, after warning everyone to stand way back, Takashi had used an attacking ofuda. Needless to say, Kyo was _not pleased at having been blown back to land hard on Takashi's desk. Takashi had been profuse with his apologies but Kyo had waved it off. Now though, sitting before a cheery fire with his husband nowhere in sight, Kyo was feeling decidedly put out._

He _always had Takashi to whine to._

"Oh, I'm so sorry Kyo," Hermione apologised hastily. Giving him a sympathetic look, Hermione asked, "Does it still hurt?"

Kyo sighed dramatically and mumbled into the sofa's red velvet. "Only in my heart. And other, more discreet places unmentionable in public," Kyo added after a pause.

Harry snickered, while Ron and Hermione just looked puzzled. Hisoka rolled his eyes and slouched deeper into his armchair. "Quit whining," he ordered. "You sound like an eight year old."

Kyo straightened up and shot Hisoka a cheeky smile. "I'm not sure eight year olds can experience _this _kind of discomfort."

"Pervert."

"Spoilsport."

Any further name calling was interrupted by a meow at their feet. Looking down, they saw a huge, ginger colored cat sitting in the middle, golden eyes regarding them solemnly as its bottlebrush tail swept the floor gently.

"Crookshanks!"

Kyo felt Harry tense infinitesimally beside him; something in Hermione's tone had set something off. Kyo himself didn't know what had Harry tensed like that but he himself could detect the odd glimmer of expectation and. . . .something else that was decidedly different in Hermione's posture. He chanced a quick glance at Hisoka who was frowning at the girl. Kyo knew Hisoka had asked Harry to not tell anyone about his empathy and Kyo had backed him up on that one. It would be the ace in their sleeve so to speak and Hermione was unaware of the sudden glare Hisoka was pinning her with.

"This is my cat, Crookshanks," Hermione explained and there was again, that odd expectant tone in her voice. Kyo looked down to the ginger cat and saw the yellow eyes staring straight back at him. They looked at each other silently until finally, with a sigh, Kyo leaned back.

"Oh, fine. Go on," he waved a hand dispiritedly.

With another meow, Crookshanks leapt up nimbly onto Kyo's lap. Circling a few times and deeming his perch comfortable enough, the cat settled himself like a king on his throne. Purring, the cat started licking his paws, royally ignoring everyone else.

"Looks like he's taken a fancy to you, mate," Ron spoke up. There was relief shining in his eyes and a new wariness mixed with it. Harry had relaxed and was patting Crookshanks absently while Hermione dropped her tense pose.

"Yes," she echoed thoughtfully. "He really likes you."

Closing his eyes, Kyo rested a hand gently on the cat's thick fur and didn't try to answer. The minutes ticked by, and lulled by the gentle roar of the fire and the other's soft chatter, Kyo let himself fall into a light sleep. There would be time later to discuss about Hermione's strangeness.

                                               *********************************


	9. Chapter 9:Anger isn't his only option

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"Another year and _this _is what we have managed to scavenge from the dregs of you." The tone of voice was colder than ice and even more brittle. The venom it carried washed over each and everyone of them and not a few flinched from it.

Looks like Potions was going to be as usual.

Harry chanced a quick look around the dreary, cold dungeons. There were roughly only fifteen students of mixed Houses in Snape's NEWTS level class. Malfoy was there, of course, and as usual it seemed this year, with no accompanying Crabbe and Goyle acting as living bookends. There was a decidedly less number of Slytherins than he expected; Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini and another whom he could not recall his name. The rest were made up of various Ravenclaws and Gryffindors with only two Hufflepuffs to balance it out. Ron wasn't part of the class ("Thank Merlin! Can't say I envy you mate!") and neither was Neville.

Hermione of course, was there. Her own 'Outstanding' in Potions had assured her rightful presence there. Not like his anyway. This time though, his partner was Kyo while Hisoka was Hermione's. Since the four of them shared one long work table, he doubted that anything majorly catastrophic could happen, considering the fact that Kyo had cheerfully assured him that he knew absolutely squat about Potions but he was a damn good cook so would that help?

Just to be on the safe side, Harry made sure that he took the spot next to Hermione.

As Snape went on in that chilling voice that was flat and even yet so masterfully conveyed to them just what he thought of their intelligence (non-existent) and presence (not appreciated) in his class, Harry let his eyes drop back to his folded hands in his lap, not wanting to provoke Snape so early on in the year. Even as he stilled his thoughts like his body, the memories of last year washed through. Of being in the very same dungeon and having to endure his subconscious pried open and discarded with a sneer.

_It's all his fault, Harry thought comfortingly to himself. It was a mantra he had repeated often. Often enough that it had lost any sort of comfort and was more of a dull repetition that had been deprived of any conviction. __Sirius would still be alive if he hadn't thrown me out. Sirius would still be alive._

_And just who are you trying to fool? It wasn't Voldemort's sibilant whisper nor was it his own mind voice. It was a voice he did not recognize, holding nothing more than a curious lilt to it, and one he did not welcomed. The voice was unconcerned, unfeeling. The voice was making him __think._

_Come now, it continued, _are you telling me that you actually believe that? Who was it, pray tell, that refused to practice his Occlumency every night? Why should Snape be the one to hold the entire blame? Maybe he was right. . . .like father like son?__

Somehow, Harry didn't think that the old adage the voice quoted was meant to be complimentary.

_Great, Harry thought with a sigh. _I'm having a mental breakdown in Snape's class. Can the day get any worse?__

He was roused out of his thoughts by a soft nudge at his side. Kyo was peering at him concernedly and Harry realised that people were starting to move to the back of the dungeons to the supplies cabinet. Looking to the blackboard hurriedly, Harry saw that Snape had assigned them a Dark Clouds potion. Quickly committing to memory the list of ingredients needed, Harry joined the small throng at the back and managed to get decent enough ingredients. At their work table, Harry and Kyo took up their assigned tasks. Since Kyo knew nothing about Potion-making, Harry had given to him the job of slicing and dicing the ingredients and Kyo was agreeable enough about it. Harry's job was to mix it all up and pray that it won't blow up in their face.

The class had settled down to a soothing murmur of quiet chopping and the liquid bubbling of their cauldrons. Despite his earlier ominous words predicting doom and the apocalypse, Snape was making his rounds quietly as well, with less-scathing remarks than his usual wont. _Probably because he's not stuck with all of the dunderheads this time, Harry thought with faint amusement. __Well, except one._

"Say, Harry?"

"Hmm?" Harry made sure that Snape was at the other side of the room before turning to Kyo while still stirring their brew in steady figure-eights. 

Kyo looked rather calm despite Snape's air of doom and gloom and his hands moved with dexterous skill as he quickly and efficiently shelled boiled doxie eggs. A quick look assured Harry that none of the eggs were imperfect in any way. Harry had to admit, Kyo was right when he said he was a great cook. Not that he hadn't known since he had been recipient of some of Kyo's skill in the summer but it was another thing to see those skills used in a Potions class.

"This Dark Clouds Potion," Kyo gestured with a half-peeled egg, "what does it do exactly?"

Harry noted absently that Kyo was carefully keeping his voice low. "It's not what it sounds like exactly," Harry replied. "The potion is supposed to have an effect somewhat like a Dementor. It leaves the drinker depressed to the point of suicide."

"A Dementor?" Kyo frowned and threw him a puzzled look. He had finished with the doxie eggs and had moved on to cutting paper-thin slices of mandrake roots. Harry scooped up the finished eggs and dropped them into the boiling brew one at a time while chanting the appropriate charm accordingly. He had no sooner finished and was about to answer Kyo when a shadow fell over their cauldron.

"What's this?" That familiar voice hissed in his ears. "Dare my eyes deceive me? Harry _Potter _actually manages to get a potion halfway right?"

Harry said nothing, concentrating on his stirring. Kyo's knife hesitated briefly before continuing with its slicing.

"What? No snappy comment? No biting remark for your greasy, sallow Potions professor?"

He concentrated so fiercely on making sure the brew was made properly that his gaze slid in and out of focus, blurred by the intensity. Unbidden, the voice echoed again in his head, neither sniping nor caustic in anyway, merely repeating its questions. His hands moved automatically even as his mind retreated to that grey plain where nothing and no one could hurt him, where the only company he had was dark, ragged veils, fluttering in an unfelt wind. Scooping up the mandrake roots, he scattered them carefully over the surface of the potion and watched them sink to the depths of the cauldron with a soft hiss and a faint scream echoing in the air. All this time, Snape's cold, hateful presence stayed steady behind him, refusing to leave.

"So the great Harry Potter won't even talk to a lowly professor? Raised himself to the heights of a martyr now, have we? Too good, too much _in pain with his. . ._losses?_"_

Harry finally took his eyes away from the cauldron. The text had said anyway that after adding the mandrake, it was to simmer for exactly five minutes before cooled instantaneously then brought forth to a rapid boil. Harry had shot up over the summer and he found himself almost able to look at Snape right in the eyes. Dull green met glittering blank and even as he opened his mouth to speak, Harry saw the familiar sneer of contempt mar the professor's pale, twisted lips.

"Thank you for having me in your class Professor. I know that I'm not supposed to but I hope I won't disappoint you too badly."

All this was delivered in a steady monotone, inflectionless and it quickly wiped the sneer of the professor's face. They stared at each other, one trying to read past the surface blankness and one, not really caring in any way but careful enough to let the other get lost in a haze of murky darkness and fluttering veils. Snape was the first to break contact, his eyes showing his confusion, anger and maybe, just a hint of surprise before the familiar sneer started to make its appearance once again.

"Po—" he started but was interrupted by Kyo's hesitant intrusion.

"I'm sorry Professor Snape," Kyo apologized, "but is that supposed to happen?"

That, turned out to be Pansy's cauldron whose flames had shot up over five feet and was turning an alarming violet color. It quickly grabbed Snape's attention and he strode furiously to the alarmed girl's table. Scathing words and rebuke quickly got the situation in hand. Apparently, being in his advanced class meant that even Slytherins were exempt from special treatment. Harry turned his gaze to Kyo, wand ready for the freezing charm. Kyo had ignored the minor excitement and was leaning against the scarred table, knife held negligently in one hand.

Seeing Harry's gaze on him, Kyo raised an eyebrow saying, "Yes?" quite politely.

Harry managed a faint smile before turning back to their cauldron. Snape didn't come near him for the rest of the class.

                                        ***********************************

Severus Snape was not a well-liked man. In fact, some of the more colourful adjectives used to describe him tend to run in the vein of sallow, greasy, bastard, spawn of the devil. . .and those were the nicer ones. Not that he gives a damn. Rather, Snape was proud of his reputation. Let the snivelling runts fear him, as they should. For if they can't even survive a few nasty words, what hope do they have to survive a nasty curse thrown their way courtesy of a Death Eater? Make the runts know and understand fear when it stares at them straight in the eye, that was his teaching philosophy.

He felt his lips curl into a sneer even as he spat the words of 'welcome' for his NEWTS level Potions class. Merlin, there were still _this many after the OWLS? If it had been him doing the examinations, not even half would have passed yet here he was, teaching another class full of. . . .them. Still, he had to admit, grudgingly, that it was a better class than he had predicted. He had gotten the best of the Ravenclaws, like he had expected and they withstood his ill humour with the trademark desire of the House of Rowena to learn, no matter the source. He had even managed to acquire two Hufflepuffs, doggedly accepting his criticisms. _

Black robes billowing as he made his rounds, Snape made sure that even his House was doing work up to par. He felt an odd sort of freedom as he breathed down the necks of the likes of Parkinson and Zabini. Gone were the days when he had to pander to their miniscule egos and turn a blind eye when a Slytherin's prank turned his classroom into chaos. For Severus Snape had been branded spy and traitor by the Dark Lord.

His sneer turned into a grimace as he recalled again how he barely escaped with his life. The Dark Lord had been livid with his defeat at the Ministry, and with his best Death Eaters captured or killed, he could no longer play with his little spy as he had been doing all along. Oh yes, Severus Snape knew that the Dark Lord was aware of his betrayal all these years. The man may be hideous, but he wasn't stupid. So Snape counted himself quite lucky indeed that he was still alive.

In making his rounds, Snape had been carefully leaving the Potter boy for last. The better to savour it. Looming over the boy. . .well, not exactly 'looming' as the impudent brat had managed to tack on a few inches, Snape nevertheless pinned on his best 'why don't you just crawl back under the rock you came from' look on his face. It faltered a bit as he realised that the brat's potion was the correct color and consistency.

He scowled. The boy had improved. Or at least, reading the instructions correctly this time, though his stirring was a bit too stiff. "What's this?" he mocked, nevertheless. "Dare my eyes deceive me? Harry _Potter actually manages to brew a potion right?"_

There was that slight stiffening of the shoulders he had been waiting for. In times past, Potter would have been quivering with rage under two minutes and spitting venom in three. It made for such good excuses for detention.

But today seemed to be an exception. His partner, that Shiozaki boy (Snape swore that there was more to the Japanese transfers than meets the eye) hesitated briefly in his slicing but resumed his work anyway. 

"What? No snappy comment? No biting remark for your greasy, sallow Potions professor?"

The brat scooped up the mandrake roots and as the text instructed, scattered it gently over the surface of the potion. It turned into a sickly orange color as prescribed.

"So the great Harry Potter won't even talk to a lowly professor? Raised himself to the heights of a martyr now, have we? Too good, too much _in pain with his. . ._losses?_"_

It was a low thing to do but Snape was never a man who fought fairly when he could fight dirty. There it was again, that stiffening of the back and the hand that clutched the ladle tightening briefly. Potter turned, (finally!) and dark, hollow green eyes met his.

"Thank you Professor, for having me in your class," he said softly. "I know I'm not supposed to but I hope I won't disappoint you too badly."

Eye contact was an important element for Legilimens to work and Snape took the opportunity. He dove in deep, aware that the boy knew what he was doing but strangely, allowing it anyway. He expected to be assaulted with memories of a poor little boy crying under the blankets, wiping his runny nose but he had not expected the endless grey haze or the hint of veils fluttering in the breeze from the corner of his eye.

Snape wrenched himself back and found the dull eyes waiting, watching. He stared back and they might have continued the staring match for who knows how long when that Shiozaki interrupted them. Minor pandemonium erupted as he snarled at Parkinson, a simple flick of the wand sending the flames back to its normal heat and color but the girl's potion was irredeemably lost.

Secured behind his desk at the front of the room, he made no other move to inspect the students' work. Instead, he sat brooding in his chair, greasy hair obscuring his eyes as he regarded the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Annoy-Him. There was something. . . .off there. Something not right, not expected. By dint of proximity, his gaze alighted on the Japanese, Shiozaki. He had not seen the boy's wand but he suspected the mishap earlier was not an accident. Didn't Lupin mention in the staffroom the other day that the newcomers did not use wands? He might no longer be a spy but his instincts screamed at him that the four were hiding something.

He might have stewed in his dark musings until the end of the period but a sudden prickle of awareness caught him and he jerked his head to the right quickly.

Kurosaki was staring at him. Green eyes as vibrant as Potter's but infinitely darker, met his gaze steadily. For a very brief moment, Snape felt exposed as he had never been before, even kneeling helpless before the Dark Lord. Those damnable green eyes seem to see right through the protective layers of thorn and nails he had to the shrivelled up soul he kept hidden beneath.

That feeling was broken when the boy broke contact first. But even as he ignored his class in favour of marking the summer essays, he fancied, for a time or two, that he could feel green eyes burn deep into him.

                                                        ***************************

_Moist, open kisses peppered gently all over his shoulder and collarbone, a tongue lightly licking at those sensitive spots which he never knew were sensitive spots. _

This has got to be a dream!_ Harry thought hysterically. _

_And it did have that odd inside/outside, first person/third person feel to it, as if he were both spectator and participant. That warm, knowing mouth moving ever-so-slowly against his. Harry groaned. He would never have thought that another boy's body could bring so much pleasure and. . . .another boy's body?_

What the. . . ??!!

_But there was no mistaking the jutting angle of hips which weren't sheathed in the soft plumpness he'd imagined a female would have but the hard, silky smooth yet slightly coarse and decidedly all-male skin, the smooth, flat planes of stomach and chest. . .how  it fit so perfectly against him. The kiss grew deeper, warmer still, as Harry found his lips parting to let a clever tongue in to tease his tantalizingly. It was just a dream, but he never had dreams like this. At best, they were clumsy and unfocused, vague yearnings kept from concrete form by his own lack of experience. This felt as if he had stepped unwittingly into someone else's night time adventures. That's it!__  The idea had a feel of morbid desperation to it. This isn't my dream at all! I- I've received someone else's, like a delivery error with the post!_

Harry, Harry, Harry. ._ .he could hear that low, husky voice murmuring in his ear, laughing gently even as his numbed brain tried to make out the indistinct features of his night time lover. He could make out little besides dark hair brushing his face softly. The phantasm brushed soft fingers against pebbled skin and Harry shuddered in delight mixed with torment._

_Despite the utter weirdness and how he was sure that he never had any interest in that way, Harry felt his breath quicken in response, an answering tightness in his groin that sent flashes of need and ecstasy. He opened his mouth, blindly following the urgings of his lover and he felt hot breath moving closer and closer and. . ._

_Dry, flaky skin instead of soft, moist flesh.__ A gaping hole that sucked breath and life. Harry recoiled in horror, feeling the wrongness instantly even without the cold that stabbed deep and faint screams starting to play at the back of his mind._

_A Dementor.___

_Where his phantom lover had cradled him close, a Dementor now held him in its bony grip, black ragged cloth smelling of death and decay covering him like a blanket. Harry tried to scream, to back away but his limbs were frozen solid. No Patronus would save him now; his arms were heavy, leaden blocks of ice. A skeletal hand reached out from underneath the black shroud to push back the hood. He was like prey frozen by the avid, hungry stare of the hunter, watching that gaping mouth helplessly even as his mother screamed for her life to be taken in exchange of her son's._

_When the hood finally fell back, Harry screamed louder._

_The face was Sirius's._

Harry. . . ._the__ name whistled past shrunken lips and tangled black hair. Harry, why? Why did I have to die?_

(Wake up)

_Harry went on screaming, longer than possible and filled with more terror than any of his Gryffindor mates could imagine. The hands, skeletal still, clutched needily, hungrily scratching his forearms as his godfather whispered-screamed, why, Harry? I wanted to live. Why did I have to die?_

(Wake up)

_He tried to stop, to beat that painful grip away that clawed strips of his flesh to reveal gleaming muscle and sinew that bled silver. Sirius leaned closer, gaping Dementor mouth sucking hungrily at his screams. Why?_

(WAKE UP!)

"Sirius!"

"Shh! It's okay! It was just a dream!"

Harry fought the restraining hands and sheets that twisted into lead manacles, prisoning him within the nightmare still. There was a muffled curse even as Harry wailed, limbs flailing and smacking into someone. As Harry tried to run, to break free, something heavy fell on top of him, pinning him down until he could only gasp and shudder, trying to think past the fear.

Long minutes passed and that someone refused to let go, firm hands holding him still as icy shivers wracked his body head to foot. Without his glasses, Harry could barely make out the underside of his hangings which he now stared at, trying to bring the world back into focus. When he was no longer shivering so badly and could breathe without sounding like he was on the verge of a heart attack, the weight pinning him down was lifted. Harry groaned feebly and his saviour kindly helped him sit upright and a moment later, a glass of cool water was pressed into his hands. He drank deeply, almost draining the glass in one gulp and the last vestiges of the nightmare released him.

"My glasses," Harry mumbled and felt something fragile and thin placed in his hands. He fumbled, almost dropping it but managed to set it right on its perch on his nose. He blinked, trying to adjust and the first thing he saw was,

"H-hisoka!" 

The blond boy smiled faintly, his profile limned with the ethereal glow of moonlight and sending strands of gold afire. Suddenly aware of just how sweaty and messed up he must be, Harry flushed, dragging the blankets higher to cover himself even as he leaned back against the headboard.

A moment passed in silence as Harry tried to work out what to say but he was saved by Hisoka.

"You're a loud dreamer," he said with a sigh.

Harry blinked and shot up straight. "Oh god, did the charms break? The others—" he fell silent as Hisoka gently, but firmly pressed him back.

"Your charms didn't break," indicating the four paper talismans stuck high up the bedposts which gleamed faintly.

"Then. . ." Harry trailed off and when Hisoka raised an eyebrow, he blushed. "Oh, yeah. . .I forgot you're an empath."

Hisoka cocked his head to the side, studying him under that same moonglow and said, thoughtfully yet hesitantly, "Would you like to talk about it?"

Harry shook his head in the negative.

Hisoka sighed. "I thought so." He got up then and seemed to deem the matter over before he turned back and gave Harry a kind, yet weary smile. "Will you be okay?"

Harry tried to answer but found the words stuck in his throat. He tried again and managed a scratchy "Yeah. I. . .I'm okay."

"No, you're not," Hisoka rebuked him, still in that gentle voice. He lifted a hand, making as though to ruffle his hair affectionately but midway, the hand dropped, as if he just realised what he was about to do. Harry ducked his head, blinking back the tears furiously. With his head down on his arms, Harry could hear the muffled footsteps, telling him that Hisoka was making his way back to his own bed. Thinking that Hisoka had settled in, he was startled when the boy said, just loud enough to carry over, "I heard from Ron earlier that they still have some stash of hot chocolate in an ever-warm pot downstairs."

Harry waited for five minutes before he dared to slip out from behind his hangings, sliding into his slippers and a robe before he made his way downstairs.

                                        *******************************

Hisoka sank back into fluffy, goose down pillows and sighed. What he said to Harry about him being a loud dreamer was an understatement. Harry practically screamed his dreams into his subconscious, booting Hisoka out of deep sleep so fast that he was already halfway across the room before his mind caught up with his body.

It had been a long time since he 'felt' someone, other than Tsuzuki, dream. While he wasn't a yumemi or a dreamgazer, his empathy and telepathy was near enough to the skill of one. He had no idea who the man/monster? in Harry's dream was but from the name screamed, he could guess that that must have been Sirius Black, the boy's godfather. The Shinigami knew little about Harry's family, Fudge not being that cooperative with them but he knew that the man died not some time ago. How he died, was unexplained to them.

He sincerely hoped that however this Sirius Black died, it hadn't caused the poor man's corpse to look like that. . .thing. Hisoka shuddered minutely, seeing again the gray, flaky skin and gaping mouth. Enma, but that boy had a _vivid _imagination.

There was a faint tugging at the back of his mind, a sort of knocking on the door and Hisoka smiled. Trust Tsuzuki to get all impatient even when he was a few minutes late. Well, knowing Tsuzuki, he was probably panicking, thinking the worst had happened. Before his husband burned down the castle around their ears, Hisoka quickly fell into deep sleep that should have been impossible to achieve in just a few seconds.

His mind knew the path taken intimately. He had done this countless of times before when it was more of a luxury, rather than a necessity. Now that they were separated, it had become a necessity.

Hisoka flew along a silver road that gleamed brightly in the darkness, shot through with strands of intertwined purple and green; the mark of their bond. In the blink of an eye, he was before a door, a simple wooden one that opened with his presence and suddenly, he was outside again where everything was. . . . .

Pink.

And fluffy.

And, tasting the leaf of an orange bush suspiciously, sugary.

"Hi~so~ka~!!!!"

As a relieved and all-too energetic puppy sprinted towards him, Hisoka fought the urge to bang his head against (what he was pretty sure was) a chocolate trunk of a candy tree. Why, oh why, did they have to introduce Tsuzuki to Enid Blyton and her stories of lands filled with candies and sweets and everything that could put a diabetic into a coma?

Before he could take any drastic measure (like changing the landscape to a library, the Gushoushin's for added effect), Hisoka was knocked flat to the ground. Tsuzuki loomed over him, grinning from ear to ear and trailing candy canes and lollipops that fell in a shower of pink, orange, white and yellow.

"Hi~so~ka~. . . ." Tsuzuki sang gently.

Despite his best efforts, a smile twitched free even as a traitorous hand reached up to cup a cheek affectionately.

"Idiot," Hisoka smiled.

And the world was alright again.

                                          *********************************

Kyo had this affinity for cushy seats and windows. So it was no surprise that he was sitting in one (a very cushy sofa) underneath a window in the Gryffindor common room. What little moonlight there was tonight failed to light his little corner much, the moon positioned the way it was behind thick, dark clouds. Shadows curled invitingly over and around him, sitting with his ankles tucked neatly underneath him even as he slouched as far back into the seat as he can. His right arm hung limply over the sofa arm, fingers twiddling a little sporadic tune; all in all, the picture of a very bored boy who had nothing to do.

How he wished he was.

His fingers weren't dancing a mindless tune. Locked into what he termed as his 'othersight', Kyo tracked the invisible flow and pull of magic that was woven through the very fabric of the air, made visible to him as delicate strands of gold, green, silver, yellow, purple, all colors of the rainbow and beyond. With his fingers, he manipulated that weave, tugging one here, gently uncoiling another until he had his own separate tapestry to play with. With the magic in his hands, he sent strands out that could be seen by no one but him and what he found made whatever little drowsiness he had disappear and his disquiet, to foment deeper.

They were watching.

The professors. Mcgonagall. Snape.

Dumbledore.

Seeing spells that kept track of the four Shinigami even as the wizards and witches responsible for such spells kept snug and tight in their warm beds, perhaps fighting off sleep and wondering, just who _are these people we keep watch on? The little nit of pleasure he allowed himself to derive from this enforced imprisonment was to weave a likeness of him, snug asleep in bed. To all outward appearances, the common room was empty._

He might have been sitting there for an hour or two, when slow shuffling footsteps told him that someone was coming down. His othersight showed him that the wizard sent out ripples of gold. Even if that hadn't clued him in, the _kehai_he felt was definitely Harry's.

Sure enough, the boy so identified stumbled into the common room, eyes blinking and he headed straight for the banked embers of the fireplace. So focused he was on his task that he didn't even see Kyo, lounging in the shadows.

Around Harry's head, the ripples of gold were marred with twisted black and formless grays. Remnants of a nightmare.

"Couldn't sleep?"

With a yelp. Harry spun around, poker raised in a defensive pose and Kyo had to chuckle. Hearing it, Harry squinted, peering into the gloom where Kyo hid himself.

"Kyo?"

                                                 **************************

"Kyo?" Harry squeaked.

What is it with the Japanese? They always seem to startle him, popping out of nowhere like that. Dropping the poker back into the stand, Harry gave another startled jump when the fire roared into life, shedding light into the room and illuminating the couch where Kyo sat on.

Seeing Kyo like that, face half-obscured by shadows and flame, feet tucked casually beneath him, Harry felt a flush that had nothing to do with the sudden warmth of the fire burning his face. No matter how the dream had ended, he couldn't deny that he had been having the most. . . .vivid dream about making out with another boy whom he recalled had been dark haired and he couldn't help but think that his dream lover had been Kyo.

Or maybe Takashi.

He blamed it all on the time he stumbled into that makeout session of theirs during the summer in his aunt's kitchen. The recollection of just what his two friends had been up to when he had walked in on them made him heat all over again in an intense blush. A clot of bubbles from the washing up had clung endearingly to Takashi's auburn hair as he held the smaller boy's back against his chest, head bowed to nuzzle into his partner's neck. And Kyo. . . His sodden t-shirt had been molded enticingly over the supple lines of abdomen and collar bones, over nipples that had been quite visible through the cloth. Takashi's hands had been busy, one slipping up over Kyo's navel under his shirt, the other teasing the front of the jeans that hung loosely from Kyo's hips.

_Who knows how far they would have gone if I hadn't walked in right then? _

Harry had to admit that there was a little, guilty part of him that would always be curious about that.

"Harry? You're turning red again."

Harry gave another undignified squeak and ducked his head. Shuffling his way to Kyo's couch, he quickly sat down, almost tipping over on to Kyo as his slighter body sank in the depression in the seat Kyo made. Automatically, Kyo's arm snaked out to steady him and didn't let go.

Harry prayed to Merlin, Hecate, Circe and anyone else relevant that he would stop blushing preferably sometime in the next two seconds. As Harry racked his brain desperately, trying to come up with a good topic that would stop Kyo from asking _why _he was blushing, he noticed, from the corner of his eye, that Kyo's fingers were. . .wiggling around his ear.

"Er. . .Kyo?" he asked cautiously. "What are you doing?"

"Getting rid of the last of your nightmare," Kyo replied absently. His hand made a sharp, yanking motion and Kyo exclaimed, "Aha! There, it's gone now."

"You. . .you can tell I had a. . .dream?" Harry asked slowly.

He felt, rather than saw Kyo shrug. "Yeah. That's it really. Dreams have a way of lingering in your _kehai_ and—"

"Sorry, what?"

"_Kehai_, or aura. Anyway, they linger and can affect you for some time. I hope you don't mind?" Kyo asked belatedly.

Harry shook his head fiercely, black hair flying messily this way and that. "No! I don't. Thank you."

Since Kyo didn't seem to be in a talkative mood (he had fallen silent, his hand playing absently with the ends of Harry's hair, brushing softly against the back of his neck and reminding Harry once again, of the first part of his dream. Harry shifted slightly.), Harry got the nerve to ask him, quietly, "Can't you sleep either?" Hisoka had said the other day that Kyo had insomnia.

Kyo laughed softly, his hand stilling to rest companiably on Harry's shoulder. Harry had to repress an odd start of regret at that. "You can say that."

Harry decided to press further. He genuinely liked Kyo and after all, Kyo had been there for him (so did Takashi) and had listened to him. "Was it a nightmare?"

"Can't have a nightmare when you weren't asleep in the first place," came the amused reply.

"You miss Takashi huh?" There was the faint wistfulness in his tone that Harry couldn't suppress. He might have felt that to love someone so much was more of a curse than a blessing, seeing how Kyo and Takashi exchanging their own wistful glances and never being able to do more than that. But in his heart, Harry admitted that to have someone who can understand him and love him despite everything and anything, was heaven sent. 

"Just a bit," Kyo said wryly.

And if there's one thing that Harry had learned about his friend is that Kyo was a master of evasion and wilful obtuseness. He decided a change of subject was in order and said the first thing that popped into his mind.

"Kyo, if you dream about a guy in that. . .way, does that mean you're gay?" And he promptly blushed a fire engine red.

Kyo thoughtfully refrained from laughing but nevertheless, there was a telltale glimmer of amusement in his voice as he asked, "I take it you had a dream about a guy in that. . .way?"

Harry tried to shrug nonchalantly and when that failed, he threw a cushion in Kyo's face.

"Stop laughing at me," he said plaintively.

"I'm not," Kyo said defensively, though with a grin. "Seriously. You reminded me of myself when you ask that."

Harry blinked. "So you weren't. . ."

"What? Born gay?"

"Er. . . ."

Kyo laughed. "No. I still don't think I'm gay either."

Harry frowned, his embarrassment forgotten in his confusion and curiosity. "But you and Takashi?"

"I'm Takashi-sexual. Not gay. Just. . .Takashi-sexual. Is there such a word?"

"There is now," Harry replied with not a bit of dryness and he became the next recipient of a cushion in the face. "Seriously," Harry protested, throwing the cushion to the floor. "How can you tell?"

Not answering immediately, Kyo cocked his head to the side, studying him intently for a moment before he replied, "Just because you had a dream, it doesn't prove anything conclusive about your sexuality."

"Great," Harry mock-frowned. "You sound like Hermione." He paused, then said hurriedly, "Okay, that was a bad idea bringing Hermione into this."

"You're still young Harry. You'll find love when it's the right time."

"Not if I don't die first," Harry muttered, suddenly feeling an oppressive gloom settle over him. He didn't mean for Kyo to hear that but he did and Harry got his shoulder squeezed firmly, but gently.

"Don't you ever say such a thing again Harry Potter or I _will _do something embarrassing to you in front of the entirety of Hogwarts," Kyo threatened calmly.

Harry flushed a dull red. "Sorry."

"And don't apologize," Kyo sighed tiredly.

Silence fell between the two friends and Harry shifted uncomfortably. He was more than aware that his comment had destroyed the earlier bantering mood but he had no idea how to get it back. As he brooded, Kyo said, "You could be really lucky and realise straight off that you just found the one you were meant to be with or you could be a total idiot like me by being in denial."

"Huh?"

Kyo smiled. "I was around your age when I met Takashi. My best friend in high school, Hikaru, had given up trying to fix me up with girls. So she decided to try guys instead. And guess who turned out to be the new doctor transferred to our school?" There was buried laughter in his words that told Harry the memory was a good one and he grinned in reply.

"You make it sound like you're so old," he complained good-naturedly. "You're just a couple of years older than me."

"Sometimes I feel like I'm fifty," Kyo snorted delicately.

"So your friend tried to fix you up with Takashi?" Harry prompted.

"Yeah," Kyo grinned. "But as I keep on telling her, I'm not gay nor bi. She wouldn't take 'no' for an answer and she even told me, 'Kyo, if plastic rulers can bend, why not you?' Needless to say, I didn't have an answer for that."

"So how did you. . ." Harry asked, fascinated.

"It took until I saw Hikaru kissing Takashi on my birthday. In summary, I ran, Takashi chased. We fought, I yelled, he yelled, then I said I loved him and he said thank god, 'cause he was seriously considering of kidnapping me and eloping straight off."

Harry goggled. "Wow. That was. . . .wow."

They spent some time like that, Kyo telling Harry of some of his and Takashi's funnier moments in the early stages of their relationship; how the principal nearly caught them in the infirmary was a good one. After an hour or so, Kyo's voice got softer as he realised Harry was fighting a losing battle with sleep. Head nodding now and again, Kyo was ready to catch him as he slumped sideways, sleep finally overtaking him.

Kyo sat, with Harry's head pillowed in his lap, until dawn finally broke through the clouds. He woke Harry up and sent him up to bed before the others woke up but he stayed behind, not relinquishing his spot on the sofa. Only when the majority of Gryffindors had stirred awake did Kyo finally move, showering quickly and putting on the uniform. He sat back down in the common room and waited quietly for Harry, Hisoka and Ron to join him for breakfast.

So begins another day for Kyo.

**tbc***

A/N: S**t & bugs happen.


	10. Chapter 10:I knew a demon once His name ...

**Title: When Death Comes A' knocking**

**Author: Shiozaki**

**Plot Mistresses: Shiozaki, Shaynie, Literary Eagle**

**Spellmaker****: Literary Eagle**

**Chapter Warning: Angsty!Kyo. Why? Because I'm feeling Angsty!Author-ish myself.**

**Scene Master: Shiozaki**

**Author's Note: A little experimentation in formatting since I'm so sick and tired of losing mine whenever I upload lately.**

**                              Many, many thanks to all who reviewed! Merry Christmas!**

**                                                                        Chapter 10**

**                                                     I knew a demon once. His name was. . .**

Takashi's desk in the staffroom was conveniently located near Remus's. Since the desk was near a window which let in the morning light, Takashi was pleased enough about it even if he suspected the reason his desk was there was for easier supervision by the werewolf. That particular morning, Takashi had yet to leave the staffroom as he had no morning classes. So with Remus at his own place, marking fifth year essays, Takashi leaned back wearily in his own leather seat, quill twirled absently in one hand. On this particular morning, Takashi positively _despised _the morning sunshine.

"Takashi?" Remus's gentle tones broke his reverie. "Are you okay?"

Takashi opened weary eyes, quill abandoned and the hand that had been kneading between his eyes stilled. "Why shouldn't I be?" he asked mildly.

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Maybe because you don't look it?"

Takashi feigned a hurt look, a hand over his heart. "What? You think I'm not handsome anymore? I'm crushed."

"Don't be such a prat," Remus replied wryly. "It's against Hogwarts' charter for her professors to be prats."

"It's against the law for professors to be handsome even when sick."

"So you admit you're sick," Remus pointed out triumphantly.

Takashi halted, momentarily stumped as he realised he had blundered then grinned. "So you admit I'm handsome."

Remus rolled his eyes, propping his elbows on his desk. "Takashi," he said patiently. "_Are you alright? If you're not, you better see Madam Pomfrey."_

"I'm fine, Remus," Takashi smiled. "It's nothing that a good night's sleep won't cure." Then he added softly underneath his breath, "That is, _if I can ever get a good night's sleep."_

"You haven't been sleeping well? How long has it been going on?"

Takashi froze, eyeing his colleague warily until he remembered, Remus _is a werewolf. Of course he could hear what with his superb hearing. "You weren't supposed to hear that," he accused mildly and promptly shifted the pile of seventh year essays he had to mark closer. Picking up his quill with forced gusto, Takashi had no sooner wetted the nib with ink when the feather was snatched out of his hand. He looked up, a mock frown on his face. "I was using that."_

Remus ignored him to lean closer. Brown, almost amber eyes narrowed in concentration, Takashi could have sworn that the man's nostrils flared slightly, seeming to inhale his scent. Which he probably was.

"You _are not feeling well," Remus frowned. "I can tell. Why haven't you been to the infirmary? Madam Pomfrey could give you a sleeping draft. So could Severus."_

Takashi coughed delicately. "Ah. I fear Professor Snape would poison me first. He's not overly fond of me."

"He's not overly fond of anyone," Remus said wryly. "Except his Slytherins," he added. "But that does not mean you can't go to Pomfrey."

Takashi could tell that Remus meant well. The werewolf was just that kind of guy. A gentle, studious man, Remus cared and cared deeply for those he came to know. It had been a welcome for both Takashi and Tsuzuki that Remus had struck up an immediate camaraderie with them when the other professors were rather formal and distant. Not that he blamed them. But this time, Takashi was really getting annoyed. Because as much as he liked Remus, it was also Dumbledore who was the cause for his current unwell state. And Dumbledore was close to Remus so by dint of relationship, Takashi was more than happy to let Remus share some of the blame.

So it was irrational and more than a bit childish but dammit, he had a headache and he hadn't had a decent sleep since he got here. He reserved the right to be childish.

"If it wasn't for Dumbledore acting all paranoid, then we wouldn't even be having this conversation!" Takashi snapped.

Remus reared back in surprise. Whatever he had expected, he had not expected to get his head chewed off like that from the usually good-natured man. In fact, this was the first time he had ever seen Takashi lose his temper. Not even when that third year Ravenclaw had arrogantly proclaimed the Japanese professor to be a 'heathen' did he lose his temper. But before Remus could get over his shock, Takashi was already apologising.

"I'm sorry, Remus," Takashi said, chagrined. His face was creased with regret and he flapped his hands in consternation, obviously flustered himself. "I didn't mean to snap at you like that it's just. . . ." he broke off with a sigh. 

"Can I ask _why _is it you're not sleeping nights?" Remus asked cautiously.

Covering his face with his hands, Takashi mumbled through his fingers. "Kyo," he said simply.

"Excuse me?"

Takashi looked up and this time, the weariness was evident in his hazel-green eyes, the lines of exhaustion even more pronounced around his eyes and bracketing his mouth. "Kyo," he repeated. "I'm not used to being away from him. We never spent a night apart in over thir—" he caught himself just in time. "In a long time," he amended.

Remus leaned against his own desk, a frown marring his face. "Surely not. Don't tell me just because Kyo sleeps in the dorms and you in the teacher's apartments, you can't sleep at night."

Takashi regarded him silently for long moments, the hazel in his eyes seeming to glow amber. Remus shifted uncomfortably, longing to break the silence but not sure how. 

"Have you ever," Takashi started, his voice soft and a faraway look in his eyes, "Woke up all alone in a bed too big for just you only?"

The pain was sharp and sudden, totally unexpected and catching Remus unawares. He thought that the worst of the pain was over, the months bringing a sort of catharsis to the stabbing pain that losing Sirius had brought. He knew intimately what Takashi was talking about. He had felt it for thirteen long years when he thought Sirius was the betrayer. For Sirius had been more than just a canine companion for his excruciating transformations every full moon. He had been the one to accept and love Remus for who he was, not what he was.

_Have you ever woke up all alone in a bed too big for just you only?_

Oh, how he understood that so well.

Remus had to look away then, trying to blink back the sudden tears. He understood but he had no power to help Takashi, just as he was powerless to help himself. Dumbledore had good reason for separating the Japanese. They were as yet, still not above suspicion despite Remus's growing fondness of them. No matter how trusted he was within the Order, he was just one. Many still held suspicion concerning Takashi, Tsuzuki and the students. It didn't help that it was evident that all four of them were powerful. Just _how _powerful was yet unknown and they refused to take the risk of dismissing them out of hand.

He was saved from offering meaningless platitudes that he himself didn't believe in when Takashi turned to the staffroom door. An expectant smile lit up his face but before Remus could ask why, a knock sounded on the door. At their chorused "Come in!" the door swung open slowly and Kyo stepped inside.

Kyo was carrying a loaded, covered tray, obviously heavy but he gave them a bright smile nevertheless. "Good morning Professor Lupin," he said politely. "Taka," he grinned. "You weren't at breakfast earlier so I brought you some." He set the tray down with a heavy 'thump' on Takashi's desk and got an answering grin from Takashi.

"Thank you, Kyo-kun," he replied. "I wasn't feeling up to breakfast today."

"Headache?" Kyo asked, concern coloring his tone.

"Aa." Takashi took off the tray cover and was positively amazed at the amount of toast, jam and scrambled eggs Kyo had brought, along with a big pot of steaming coffee. "That's a bit. . .much."

"Oh, I brought some for Professor Lupin as well," Kyo waved off his awe airily. At that answer, Remus shot up an eyebrow in surprise.

"For me as well?"

"You weren't at breakfast either Professor." In his amazement, Kyo had ushered him efficiently back to his own seat and was dividing the breakfast tray evenly between him and Takashi. "The full moon was just two days ago, ne? You need to recover your strength."

Remus was slightly dumbfounded. It was a rare thing indeed for him to find someone who could easily accept his lycanthropy and even fuss over him for it. Since Takashi and Tsuzuki had been frequent enough companions, he had candidly let them know of his condition before the rumour mill got to them and they had amazingly accepted it with little fuss. But he rarely saw Kyo, only talking to him in the capacity of teaching in class and to be mothered over like this was. . . .nice.

Satisfied that both Takashi and Remus had enough, Kyo sat himself down in a spare chair by Takashi's desk, pouring a cup of coffee for him and adding some milk and a lump of sugar without prompting. Remus had to suppress a start of jealousy; it was obvious that Kyo and Takashi were more than familiar with each other's routine, something he saw in couples that had been together for years. Considering that Kyo was only 18, they surely hadn't been married for that long but already they had the comfortable air of a long married couple.

Buttering a toast, Takashi asked, concentrating on the golden spread and with a mildness that had Kyo narrow his eyes and Remus to wonder what was going on, "So did _you _have breakfast?"

"I did," Kyo replied in injured tones. "Ask Hisoka or Harry."

"How much?"

"Enough," Kyo said. Remus knew an evasive answer when he heard it.

"As in?"

"Some juice and toast. Have you tried the blueberry jam? I swear the house elves here use magic to make them. It's delicious," Kyo chattered brightly.

Taking his cue from Takashi, Remus too, studied Kyo far closer than casual scrutiny warranted. Despite his bright tones and cheerful smile, Remus could see the same lines of weariness marring the young man's face. The light blue eyes that reminded him of Dumbledore at times yet having an infinitely darker light that the Headmaster's could ever show, was shadowed.

"Kyo." It was just a word, just his name spoken in a simple tone that still managed to convey a whole world of meaning. Kyo flinched.

"A slice," Kyo mumbled, suddenly fascinated with his hands.

"Just a slice?" Takashi clarified. Kyo's silence was enough of an answer and Takashi, without further ado, pushed the stack of toast closer to him. "Eat."

Apparently, Kyo knew a losing battle when he saw one. With minimal fuss, he helped himself to the breakfast as well and Remus found himself enjoying the impromptu meal. Takashi, even with the title of husband to Kyo, treated the young man with the seriousness and gravity of an equal. Kyo too, was far more matured than what his usual display of glib charm and subtle mischievousness showed. That levity was echoed in part by Takashi, who provided more of a wry undertone to the teasing and jokes Kyo dished out. By the time they moved on to the coffee, Remus had lost count of how many times he blushed and _he was the former Marauder!_

Kyo set his cup down with a faint tinkle and sigh. He shot a regretful glance outside the window where what little sun there was had moved higher. "I got Potions in fifteen minutes," he said regretfully.

"Have fun," Takashi said mildly.

"Evil man." Kyo stuck his tongue out. He suddenly grinned. "At least they haven't started a fan club for me here. I'm afraid Harry is far more popular than I'll ever be." There was definitely an evil chortle lurking underneath and Remus almost expected Kyo to rub his hands together gleefully. "It's nice not having any stalkers."

"Stalkers?" Remus queried.

Takashi suppressed a snort. "You should have seen Kyo at his old school. They had a fan club just for him. The members' main goal was to either get a date with him or kiss him. Any method is deemed legal except for outright bribery or threats."

"Dear Enma," Kyo said, amazed. "You still remember their charter?"

"How can I not?" Takashi replied wryly. "Do you have any idea how many of the members I've treated after they get into scuffles with each other about you?"

"Might I remind you, old man, that they had a fan club for you too?" Kyo pointed out archly.

"I had the more mature fans," Takashi shot back smugly. 

"Prat."

"Brat."

"Pedophile."

"You'll be late for Potions."

"Coward." But Kyo relented and leaned forward. He cupped Takashi's face in his hands and the earlier levity was gone in an instant. They looked deeply into each other's eyes and Remus was uncomfortably aware that he was intruding upon a private moment. Despite Dumbledore's advice to never let the Japanese out of their sight, Remus longed to escape the staffroom to give them the time alone they so desperately need but he was loath to move and break the moment. So he stayed still in his chair and prayed to Merlin they forget about him.

With a gentle smile, Kyo placed a tender kiss on Takashi's brow, right where Takashi had been rubbing his headache earlier. They stayed like that for an eternity that lasted a moment, Takashi closing his eyes with a soft sigh. The weariness dropped from both their faces at that instant and smiles lit their faces.

"Love you," Kyo said in a whisper which Remus's sensitive hearing easily picked up.

"Love you," Takashi echoed and they broke apart. With one last wistful glance, Kyo turned for the door, Takashi waving him off when he made to pick up the tray.

"Go on, you'll be late. I'll take care of this."

Kyo nodded and shot a smile in Remus's direction. "See you, professor."

"Thank you for the breakfast Kyo," Remus replied with a warm smile.

Kyo stopped, then turned to face him fully and bowed briefly. Without another word or even a last look behind, Kyo left the staffroom, closing the door behind him gently.

                                                ****************

"Stupid wand," Ron muttered, glaring at the accused wood with enough heat to blister it.

Transfigurations was as challenging as always, even more so actually, now that they were in their NEWTS level. While still practicing in changing the inanimate to the animate and vice versa, the challenge was getting it to work cross-species or even unrelated ones. It requires, as Professor McGonagall sternly reminded them earlier, discipline of the mind and perfect concentration.

Ron was apparently having trouble with either or both as his teddy bear refused to change into a kitten. It was currently stuck looking like a teddy bear with too long a tail and pointy ears. Harry was having a better time of it though; his kitten was almost perfect except for its button eyes and a propensity to squeak when hugged.

Hermione's of course, was perfect. Her own brown and white ball of fur was eyeing Ron's teddy bear with a watchful gleam.

"You got the wand movement all wrong," she briskly informed Ron who turned a rude deaf ear to her advice. She was sitting next to Hisoka and teaching him the finer skill of _wingardium__ leviosa_, the floating spell. Hisoka's feather was floating dreamily a foot above the desk and Hermione's kitten eyed it, finally abandoning Ron's failed transfigurations. "You're doing great by the way, Hisoka," she praised the boy warmly. Hisoka grunted.

Kyo though, still hadn't gotten the hang of the spell. His own feather was bobbing lazily a few inches above the desk and when he looked away, it did dive bombs instead. Harry had to stop his kitten from pouncing on it.

Hermione looked over and sighed. "Try to concentrate, Kyo," she instructed him patiently.

Kyo, who had been staring at the classroom fireplace which had a fire burning merrily in it for the morning was quite cold, finally turned. He had been staring into the fire for over ten minutes, feather bobbing forgotten. Kyo shrugged, not really bothered to but since Hermione was obviously going out of her way to help, obediently tried harder. After a few tries, he managed to make it collide in midair with Hisoka's and both feathers promptly flew into ferocious battle.

"Yeah!" Ron cheered. "Go Hisoka!"

"Come on, Kyo! Kick his. . .er. . .feather!" Harry joined in.

"_Boys._"

"_Boys_." This one had a more of a doomsday ring to it that Hermione should be able to achieve in a few years time. Cringing, the boys slunk back to their seats, tails between their legs. Figuratively.

Standing with her arms crossed and her mouth pinched, Professor McGonagall radiated displeasure. Even her bun seemed disapproving.

"If I recall correctly, Mr. Potter, Weasley, you have an assignment to finish?" she asked sternly.

"We were doing it!" Ron protested but it died off immediately when those glinting spectacles swung his way. "It's just. . .can't get my wand movement right," he mumbled.

Hermione choked out something unintelligible and promptly opened her textbook.

"Er. . ." Harry started nervously. "I just need to get the ears right and. . .yeah."

"Indeed. And you, Mr. Shiozaki? Mr. Kurosaki?"

Hisoka looked decidedly blank. So blank that Harry, Ron and Hermione feared the worst and started to edge nervously away. It was Kyo who spoke up in their defense.

"I'm really sorry Professor," Kyo said sweetly. "We just got carried away. I mean, we finally managed to master our first spell and it was amazing!" His blue eyes twinkled so brightly, Harry thought he was going to go blind. But it did seem to have an effect on McGonagall. She blinked and cleared her throat.

"In fact," Kyo continued blithely, "Maybe you can give us some pointers, Professor? Smoothen out the _skills_ maybe? I just can't keep the _grip right."_

Something akin to panic flashed across McGonagall's usually stern and impassive face. Harry knew he must have missed something in the exchange but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out _what_. McGonagall actually backed up a step and was that a _squeak _he heard from the inestimable Deputy Headmistress?

"Mr. Shiozaki," she started nervously but Kyo cut in smoothly as though she hadn't said a word.

"I mean, Hermione's great, really," he added assuredly, throwing the bewildered girl a warm smile and a wink, "But I think that learning from a witch who has practiced the craft for so long, _surely _you can give us tips? Some pointers?"

Yes, Harry was sure he heard a squeak somewhere. . .was it his kitten?

Any further baiting from Kyo (which was what Harry was pretty damn sure what the Japanese was doing) ended abruptly when the classroom door flew open and Professor Flitwick, the tiny Charms teacher, stumbled in.

"Minerva!" he squeaked. "I have to talk to you! It's urgent!"

Shooting the excited professor a grateful look, McGonagall quickly took her leave of them with directions to work some more on their kittens, a light blush staining her cheeks. The other students had turned their attention away from the Gryffindor trio and their Japanese friends to study the professors who had immediately adjourned to outside the classroom. Obviously, something big was going on.

"Hey, Kyo?" Harry asked, patting his kitten absentmindedly. "What did I miss?"

"Yes," Hisoka asked with a frown. "What _did _we miss? You were insinuating so heavily, I'm surprised we aren't drowning with innuendos."

Kyo coughed discretely, eyeing Hermione and Ron who had started one of their legendary arguments. Satisfied that they were sufficiently distracted, Kyo smiled brightly at the waiting two boys.

"Last night, it was her turn to watch us. I could feel her spell homing in," Kyo informed them chirpily.

"And. . .?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow. He knew about the surveillance some of the professors were putting his friends under. He had felt uncomfortable, knowing that the Hogwarts' professors, especially Dumbledore, seemed to view his friends as a threat, but he comforted himself with the knowledge that if they had meant him harm, he would have been long dead or a prisoner of Voldemort's by now. It may not be based on concrete proof, but he trusted them.

He also knew that Kyo had the skill to track down spells, so to speak, and could manipulate them to some extent. How he did it, he wasn't sure. Kyo only got evasive when asked.

"See, last night, I was missing Taka _terribly_," Kyo continued earnestly. His blue eyes were guileless and his lower lip jutted out in a slight pout. "I thought he looked absolutely _gorgeous _in that black shirt and jeans he wore and I just couldn't help imagining him beside me then. . . ." he trailed off.

Hisoka apparently, got the gist. "You _didn't!_"

Harry was still a bit slow on the uptake.

"I might have accidentally locked her spell on me by mistake," Kyo replied innocently. "And then, I just got _so _excited thinking about Taka. . ."

Hisoka was spluttering and choking and promptly buried his face in _Standard Spells For Beginners Grade 1_.

Harry was beginning to get an inkling. The math was pretty simple really. Take one Kyo who was missing his husband, add said husband who had happened to wear something sexy, add in a lonely night thinking about said husband and you get. . . .

Innocent Harry may be, but he wasn't _that _innocent.

"You!" he coughed, face turning bright red. "You--! Ack! Er. . . you didn't!"

"I might have," Kyo said mysteriously.

                                                               ***************

The announcement took everyone by surprise. McGonagall had been talking with Flitwick for over ten minutes when the Headmaster's voice, magically amplified, cut through the students' chatter.

"Attention please. Would every student return to their common rooms and stay there until further notice. Prefects, please take charge of your House and do not let anyone leave until given permission by your Head of House."

Immediately, an excited buzz broke out. The last time an announcement of this nature had taken place, Sirius Black was reported to have slashed the Fat Lady's portrait. This time, it could only mean one thing; the Dark Lord had struck somewhere.

On his way to their common room, Harry was uncomfortably aware of the looks and whispers he was getting. Snatches of conversations drifted past, jumbled words consisting of the Dark Lord, You-Know-Who, Potter and Dumbledore were some of the more frequent ones he heard. Harry kept his head down and moved quickly through the throng. Ron and Hermione, staunch friends that they are, took up protective stance by his side and shot black looks at anyone who dared to look at Harry even the wrong way.

He was grateful for their support, as they chivvied him quickly through the portrait hole. Kyo and Hisoka were bringing up the rear, heads bent close together and whispering urgently. The friends snagged some armchairs and sofa near the windows, away from the fireplace which tended to draw the noisiest crowd. Just minutes after they sat themselves down, the Gryffindor members of the DA sat with them; Ginny, Dean, Seamus and Neville.

Nevilled looked terrified (not a rare occurrence, but there was a little more intensity to his squeak today than even a Potions class could induce). He sat down in a chair next to Harry who was on the couch with Ron and Hermione. Kyo and Hisoka had taken up chairs nearest to the window where a girl and boy, fourth years by the looks of them, were chatting together. Seamus and Dean had taken seats next to Neville while Ginny sat next to Hisoka. She was eyeing them with an almost pensive look on her face.

"I was in Herbology earlier," Neville started without preamble, quickly catching their attention. "And Ehren, that Ravenclaw in our Defense class?" he waited for their nods of recognition before continuing, "Well, he was one of the few who got a special edition of the _Prophet _in class. He read it out before Professor Sprout could take it. Dementors had attacked a village called Queenshead! Almost everyone was Kissed!"

There was a collective horrified gasp. Harry paled and his hand immediately flew to his scar. Why hadn't he gotten any warning? His sleep last night had been okay and there wasn't even a twinge the whole day. Hermione elbowed him gently and Ron shot him a concerned look. He shook his head mutely, shrugging helplessly and the three friends exchanged helpless looks. Everyone else were talking excitedly, exchanging what little information they had. Kyo and Hisoka though, looked confused.

"Ah, excuse me?" Kyo broke in. "But what's a Dementor?"

"Blimey! You don't know? They're the foulest things on earth, that's what!" Ron said fervently. The others nodded their heads agreeably. "They're these wraith-like things, black hooded cloaks and nobody knows for sure how they look like underneath or what they even are exactly!"

Hermione added in her own bit. "They used to guard Azkaban, a wizarding prison. The worst actually." She shot a Harry a nervous look.

"Yeah, no one could ever escape from there! Well, except for Sirius Black," Neville ended in a mumble, face suddenly stricken. Only the DA members who had joined in the Ministry raid early that year knew the truth about Sirius. Harry said nothing, keeping quiet.

"The Dementors suck out your happiness, leaving you with your worst thoughts and memories and you eventually go mad if you stay too long near them," Hermione continued quietly. "But their most terrible weapon is their Kiss."

"A kiss?" Hisoka asked.

"The Dementor's Kiss," she clarified. "They suck out their victims' soul through their mouths, leaving behind an empty shell. No one can recover. They don't even know how to kill a Dementor or even set the souls free."

This apparently, disturbed the Japanese greatly. Hisoka actually looked horrified, his most expressive yet while Kyo stilled suddenly, body tensed and eyes wide. Slowly, he sat back and turned his head to face the window.

Hermione was chatting on, exchanging little bits of trivia with the others who knew as much as they could about Dementors, having grown up in wizarding families. Harry was content to let them talk, mind churning restlessly. He felt oddly agitated, not sure from where the feelings where coming from or whether they were even his. Suddenly frightened, Harry tried to empty his mind as best as he could. His efforts were intruded by the surprised and annoyed tones of the girl by the window. Harry vaguely recalled her name as Zekey Gourray.

"I can't believe it!" she exclaimed. "It's going to rain! And the sky was actually clear this morning!" Her friend murmured something softly in return.

At that instant, a flash of lightning so bright lighted the common room, followed by a crack of thunder so loud, not a few girls screamed. The others were understandably surprised but continued their speculations on the Dementor attack. Harry though, was watching Kyo. Something was going on. He knew that by the blank look on Kyo's face and by the worry shining clear on Hisoka's who was also watching Kyo. Ginny too, noticed something amiss and she gave Harry a tiny nod when she caught his eye.

Kyo stared unblinkingly out the window where Zekey and her friend were still talking, gesturing at the dark clouds that gathered ominously over the castle. Thunder and lightning flashed and boomed intermittently.

After a few minutes of complete silence from Kyo, he suddenly spoke up, so out of the blue and his words, so out of context that Harry and the others stared at him, all conversations in their little circle coming to a halt.

"I knew a man once," Kyo said dreamily. He had his right hand resting on his chest, just over his heart, the fingers massaging that spot gently as though it pained him. Hisoka leaned closer, the worry now so clear that even Hermione, Ron, Neville, Dean and Seamus leaned forwards as well, not sure what they were getting worried about, but feeling it all the same.

"Kyo," Hisoka said urgently but Kyo ignored him. He was still staring out the window while Hisoka's hand hovered uncertainly near his shoulder.

"At least, I _think _he was a man," Kyo continued still in that dreamy voice. "I asked his name once. He said he didn't have one but I could call him 'Demon'. I think he was that."

"A what, Kyo?" Harry asked worriedly. Kyo was acting strange. This wasn't a goofy act designed to make people relax or even one of his serious turns. This was something he had never seen before in his friend. Hisoka obviously had however, because he was looking even more worried and anxious. He kept on repeating Kyo's name but was steadfastly ignored.

"He was a what, Kyo?" Harry repeated.

"A demon," Kyo answered blankly. "He looked like a man but he was a demon."

"Kyo, have you been smoking something illegal?" Ron asked bluntly. He was immediately elbowed by Harry and Hermione thwapped him a good one upside the head. "Ow! What did I say?"

"Actually, I think you could even call him a Dementor of sorts," Kyo smiled a dreamy smile. "He can't suck your happy memories but he can drink your soul. A soul drinker. That's what he calls himself."

"Y-y-you knew a _soul drinker?!_" Hermione squeaked and even Neville blanched. Seamus and Dean just looked equally amazed and horrified but Ginny was frowning.

"Soul drinker, soul stealer, soul shredder," Kyo blinked. "He had a knife as well, which he uses to take the souls he want. It was black. . . .or was it red? I can't remember."

"Kyo," Hisoka tried again, the urgency finally getting everyone's undivided attention. He had taken Kyo's shoulder in a tight grip and was shaking his friend lightly. "Kyo!"

Kyo finally turned, looking dazed and confused. "Hisoka? I can't remember the color of his knife. Do you?" Throughout the entire weird conversation, Kyo's fingers unceasingly massaged his chest but they were suddenly clenched tight. A spasm of pain crossed his face and Harry shot to his feet in alarm. 

"Kyo?"

"Hisoka," Kyo whimpered, ignoring Harry. In fact, he seemed to have forgotten everyone's existence as he fixed wide, too light blue eyes on the now-pale boy. "It hurts."

For a boy so light and fragile looking, Hisoka was stronger than he appeared to be. He pulled Kyo to his feet, the older boy stumbling and leaning heavily against him. Ignoring the others' cries of surprise, Hisoka started to stagger towards the dormitory staircase. Harry hurried after them, catching Kyo's other arm and shouldering some of the weight. Kyo was suddenly boneless, head lolling back and Harry shot Hisoka a frightened look.

"What's going on?" he whispered.

Hisoka shook his head, lips clenched in a tight line. "Later," he muttered. They were already catching the entire common room's attention and all conversations had ceased or hushed. Ron finally got up, hurrying past them up the stairs to help open their dorm door. Seamus, Dean, Neville, Hermione and Ginny followed behind. All six of them crowded silently behind as Harry and Hisoka helped Kyo into bed, Hisoka tugging off his robes while Harry took care of his shoes. With some manoeuvring, they managed to get him under the heavy blankets where he huddled in a tight ball, eyes closed and sporadic shivers wracking his body.

"Do you think," Hermione spoke up timidly, breaking the oppressive silence, "Do you think he needs chocolate?"

"Chocolate?" Hisoka frowned.

"It's what we usually use for people who met Dementors," Harry quietly explained. "It cheers them up. I know he hasn't met one but. . ."

Hisoka stood silent for a moment, thoughtful, but finally nodded. "It might help. Do you have some?"

"I got some Chocolate Frogs," Ron said and hurried over to his trunk.

"Don't you want to take him to Madam Pomfrey?" Seamus cut in. "He doesn't look too good."

Those wide, luminous green eyes turned to fix on him and Seamus coughed nervously. Hisoka studied him silently for an endless minute before saying tonelessly, "This is something that the nurse cannot fix." He sighed and reached down, smoothing back Kyo's hair. Kyo flinched, whimpering again and retreated further into the covers.

"I need Ta-Professor Matsumada here," Hisoka muttered.

"Professor Matsumada?" Neville asked nervously. "How can he help? Does he know what medication Kyo takes?"

"I thought I made it clear, what he needs is not medication," Hisoka said impatiently. Neville squeaked. Hisoka pushed through them, saying to Harry over his shoulder who, along with Ron, was trying to coax Kyo into eating some Frog. Kyo, amazingly, was refusing. "Harry, make sure he stays in bed. Don't let anyone touch him."

"Where are you going?" Hermione asked.

"Bringing Professor Matsumada here," Hisoka replied exasperatedly. "Don't you people listen?!"

Hermione ignored that last bit. "You can't go out," she pointed out. "Professor Dumbledore said that we're not supposed to leave until we get the all-clear."

"So what do you want me to do?" Hisoka shot back. "Leave Kyo like this?"

"Madam Pomfrey. . ." Dean tried but Hisoka cut him off.

"Is of no help," he practically bit the words out. He glared at Hermione who was shifting nervously from foot to foot, her prefect's badge glinting. "Well?"

Hermione sighed, shoulders bowing in defeat. "Then let me go with you. That way, you won't get stopped by anyone."

The glare softened to something resembling gratitude. "Thank you," he murmured and quickly went out the room. With another sigh, Hermione followed him down. The others stayed behind, perching themselves on available beds as Harry and Ron gave up on the chocolate. Harry sat by Kyo, Ron at the other side.

The stillness was broken by the occasional whimpers of "Taka."

                                                     ***************

"Damn it!"

"Hisoka! Please!"

"Oh, fuck them all!" was the snarled reply.

They looked up in expectation and the door flew open, revealing Hisoka whose face was flushed with ire and Hermione who was wringing her hands worriedly.

"I'm sure the Headmaster had a good reason and—" her well meant platitude was rudely broken off as Hisoka ignored her.

He turned to Harry, eyes still flashing with anger to ask, "How's he doing?"

"Sleeping," Harry indicated the unmoving lump under the covers. "He's still sweating a bit though but he doesn't have a temperature. What happened? Where's Professor Matsumada?"

That seemed to be the wrong thing to say as Hisoka gave a wordless snarl of rage and Hermione squeaked.

"That _Headmaster _of yours didn't let him go!" Hisoka spat out. "He says he's _sure _that it's nothing serious and that they needed Takashi there with them! Godda—"

"Hisoka!" said a scandalised Hermione.

"Oh, screw them!"

Dean, Seamus and Ron were eyeing Hisoka with fresh respect. It was a rare thing indeed to hear someone actually maligning the he-who-can-do-no-wrong-headmaster like that. And by the sound of it, Hisoka had been maligning him aplenty.

"Why didn't you tell them what was really wrong with Kyo then?" Hermione asked crossly, finally losing patience. "I'm sure if you had explained properly, he would have let Professor Matsumada go and. . ." she trailed off as Hisoka turned a blank stare at her.

"What's wrong with Kyo," he said in a quiet tone that nevertheless, held them in thrall like rabbits caught by the gaze of a hunter, "Is something between Kyo and Takashi. It is not my place to tell anyone. Not even the great Dumbledore." 

Silence fell heavily as they exchanged uncomfortable looks. Hisoka may be younger than them but the look of weariness in his eyes seemed to belong to someone far, far older. That 'something' he mentioned must have been pretty bad.

Hisoka sighed, startling them. "Thank you for your help. Would you mind leaving us alone? I would like to take care of Kyo by myself."

They filed out quietly, knowing that to argue was useless by the determined look on his face. The door closed softly behind them and Hisoka turned to the bed with another sigh.

"Harry," he said.

Harry refused to budge. "I want to help," he said stubbornly. "Kyo would have done the same for me."

"Your situation and his are vastly different," Hisoka said in a sharp tone.

"I don't care," Harry replied quietly. "He's my friend. I want to help."

After a long moment, Hisoka finally sat down next to Harry. "He would not want you to see him like this, when he's at his lowest," he said quietly.

"And he's seen me in mine," Harry replied just as quietly.

Those green eyes, so shadowed yet so bright, closed for a long moment and finally opened.

"Very well."

Together, they stayed vigil long past the time when the others had fallen asleep in their own beds. The nightmares Kyo would have, Hisoka had warned him, would not be pretty. In preparation, they had used Hisoka's stock of ofudas and had placed silencing wards all around his bed. They stayed within the hangings, by Kyo's feet.

Despite the warning, Harry was unprepared for the struggle when it came. The flailing limbs were hard to contain, the both of them being smaller than Kyo. The desperation his struggles contained reminded Harry sharply of his own nightmares and he had to swallow the lump in his throat. Strangely enough, Kyo was silent throughout the whole ordeal, not one cry escaping. It took them time but they finally managed to subdue him. But even then, quietened, he flinched from their touch in his sleep and Harry and Hisoka kept their distance.

Finally, around four in the morning, Hisoka deemed the worst was over and commanded Harry to bed. Harry, who was fighting back frequent yawns, protested, but Hisoka insisted he knew better. Soon enough, he was under the covers and sleep, when it claimed him, showed him the last image of Hisoka placing a tender hand on Kyo's forehead.

"Sleep, my friend," he heard the soft whisper as blackness gathered at the edges of his vision. "Don't let the nightmares get you."

****to be continued****

**Author's Notes: **Yosh. I'm sorry it's a bit angsty, this chapter, considering that it's Christmas. . .but I'm feeling angsty myself, like I mentioned and feel the need to inflict some angst on the world! ^__^ Boy-troubles. . . .*sighes* I haven't incorporated **libraycat**'s new scenes in here but it will definitely come up in the next chapter! Hopefully, I'll get to the Quidditch and some Death Eater-action then!

**Merry Christmas everyone! Thank you all, who reviewed and the gorgeous, wonderful people at my mailing list! Love you people loads!**


	11. Chapter 11:And he dances in the snow

**Title: When Death Comes A' knocking**

**Author: Shiozaki**

**Plot Mistresses: Shiozaki, Shaynie, Literary Eagle, LibraryCat**

**Spellmaker****: Literary Eagle**

**Chapter Warning: Angsty!Kyo, Tortured!Takashi, Suspicious!Dumbledore, Snarky!Snape**

**Scene Master: Shiozaki & LibraryCat**

**Author's Note: **And the story goes on. . . .you guys can _never _guess where we went with the plot! Hoho!

**                                                                            Chapter 11**

**                                                                  And he dances in the snow**

                                                                             * * * * *

                                                             Dance! Dance! Dance till you die!

                                                             As the withered leaves fall

                                                             And your lips tell a lie

                                                             Dance! Dance!

                                                                              * * * * *

Hisoka woke up early as usual, despite the late night, or early morning as it were, that he had. Lying under the warm blankets and watching the dust motes drift lazily through predawn air, Hisoka extended his senses, letting himself soak up the atmosphere of what should be the warm, thick yet vibrant pulses that a group of hormonal 16 year old teenagers should evoke. That is, if said group of 16 year olds consisted of normal, average 16 year olds instead of two Shinigami with a past so dark and bloody that it wasn't even funny and that one of the 16 year olds wasn't a world saviour.

Life, Hisoka had learned a long, long time ago, tended to screw you both ways to Sunday when you least expect it.

But thankfully, this morning, the emotions he felt swirling sluggishly through the room was of the normal variety; the cool deep blue of sleep swirled through with formless greys of vague dreams. There was a corner where the blue was a bit more vibrant, a bit more darker. Harry. The boy had a magical presence so strong and so unordinary, he drew all magic in a room to him; like a tight vortex of power that demanded attention.

But that was expected. Hisoka noted gratefully that Harry wasn't having a nightmare. Enma knew he didn't feel like diving into another's psyche this early in the morning.

No, early mornings were reserved for a certain purpose. He extended his senses a bit more, sifting through the blue sea and found, just past the stairs at a shadowy corner where a lonely chair was, a tight swirl of dull, silver-grey. It spun a like a whirlpool, drowning itself under its own pull and Hisoka winced.

Kyo was up.

He should have known that it'd be too much too hope that Kyo would still be asleep after last night's fiasco. In hindsight, he should have realized that such an episode would have his friend up at least an hour before him.

Moving quietly, Hisoka got out of bed and after splashing his face with water and patting it dry, he changed into his hakama and uwagi. Rooting around the bottom of his trunk, he fished out his bokken, bypassing his shinai. He had a feeling that today, Kyo would feel more partial towards the heavier weapon. The bokken was weighted like a real sword and was far more satisfying than a bamboo shinai. Not a weapon to be handled by a novice, his bokken was of tiger wood, the deep, rich brown lightly striped with a deeper black. It was a thing of beauty, elegance and lethalness. 

He got it from Tsuzuki on his twenty-fifth birthday.

His outfit complete, Hisoka had one last out-of-the-ordinary preparation to do. Taking a roll of bandage from a side compartment, Hisoka began wrapping up his arms from his knuckles up to his elbows.

The protection, so to speak, was necessary. Kyo and Hisoka both liked to fight without the cumbersome use of protection. It added that certain freedom and lightness to movement as well as that element of risk and excitement. But to do so here would risk getting injured as their arms were the most exposed and having their injuries discovered. With their arms covered, they need not explain any bruises or how it could disappear so fast.

Hisoka treaded his way carefully down the stairs. Their early morning sessions had yet to be discovered by their House mates, not even Harry. Neither Kyo nor Hisoka ever saw the need to explain. This was something comforting to the both of them. A little bit of home so to speak.

Hisoka doubted that this morning's exercise would be as good-natured and spirited as it always was. Kyo's _kehai__ was unusually grey and agitated, something he hadn't seen in a long time. With Takashi around, it was hard for Kyo to fall this hard and fast. But then, he didn't have Takashi around now, did he?_

He stopped by that particularly dark corner and waited. There was a faint stirring of shadows as Kyo raised himself out of the chair. The common room was faintly lit, so they were both cloaked in shades of chiaroscuro. But that didn't hide the fact that Kyo was so pale, 'white' was an understatement. Blue-black shadows under his eyes made his pale irises stood out even more, and not in a flattering way. Hisoka was sharply reminded of another pair of blue eyes in a grey, scabbed face.

Hisoka shut that little reminder of Harry's dream in a dark corner of his mind. Remembering last night's conversation, Hisoka now realized the connection of the godfather's face with that thing called a Dementor. But that was for later study, he reminded himself. Now, now was the time for his friend.

"Are you ready Kyo?" Hisoka did not bother with any pleasantries. Kyo was not in the mood for one and he knew better than to try.

All he got in response was a blank stare. Kyo swept past him on silent feet, leading the way out as a hand gripped his own bokken so tightly, the knuckles were strained white. 

Hisoka tried to hold back a sigh. The morning outside had turned blistering cold overnight, frost already forming on the windows.

And it was just the end of September.

                                                            ***************

The cold morning light spilled through mullioned windows, giving the room a gentle glow still. Frost traced delicate patterns on the glass, starbursts of white and ice as ethereal as a spider web. The weather was unusual enough for this time of the month. Already the ground outside was covered with a thin layer of snow. Even with the liberal heating charms throughout the tower, it wasn't enough to keep the stone floors warm as the charms were meant for what was supposed to be autumn in September. 

But Harry was unaware of all this intricate byplay of weather phenomenon and the need for a temperature sensitive heating charm.

Harry Potter was currently dead to the world and quite happy to stay that way, thank you very much.

A situation Ron felt that was his honour-bound duty as his best friend to rectify immediately. Wincing as his feet jiggled a quick dance on the cold floor, his slippers lost somewhere in the dark depths under his bed, Ron chanced a quick grin and whipped out his wand.

"_Accio_pillow!" and promptly got a mouthful of feathers as said pillow smacked into his face.

"Bloody, useless--! Oy! Harry! Wakey wakey!"

Harry groaned and buried himself deeper underneath the covers. "G'way Ron. S'too early."

"No it's not!" Ron insisted. "It's way too late! Look! The sun's up and we've got Potions in 5 minutes!"

That got Harry up real quick. He yelped, shooting up so fast that Ron fell back on his rump. He scrambled around his night table for his glasses, all the while moaning about how Snape was going to kill them. It was after he got his glasses on his nose and seeing Ron rolling around on the cold floor fit to burst that he realized what day it was.

"Ron, you prat! It's Saturday! We don't have Potions on Saturday!" Harry said in aggrieved tones.

"You--!" Ron howled, choking with laughter. "Your face!! Oh sweet Merlin, your face!!"

Harry muttered darkly under his breath, "Glad _someone _finds it funny."

It took Ron a while to calm down, mostly when Harry threatened to dump the contents of the water pitcher over his head. Still gasping occasionally, Ron took up perch on his rumpled bed, grinning all the while. Taking advantage of the momentary lull, Harry looked around to see that all of his dorm mates were gone, Kyo and Hisoka included.

"Is it that late?" Harry asked, surprised.

Ron shrugged. "Not much, it's only ten. Plenty of time to grab some breakfast in a few. We however, have to talk."

Ron's earlier grin was gone, replaced by as serious a look as any. Despite his wild red hair and freckles that was even more prominent, that dignified look suited him and Harry was afforded the rare glimpse of how his friend might turn out in a few years time.

"Yeah?" Harry leaned back into his pillows, burrowing a bit under the blankets. After a moment's deliberation, Ron joined him. It took some good-natured shoving before they were both snug and comfortable. "God, it's _cold._"

"Don't change the subject," Ron said primly. "We have to talk about your. . .new friends."

"I wasn't changing the subject," Harry replied in hurt tones that was mostly feigned. "My new friends? You mean Hisoka and Kyo?"

"Yeah. What happened last night?"

Harry fidgeted uncomfortably, looking at anywhere but Ron. After studying his hands for a few minutes, Harry shrugged and said, "I don't know," he confessed. "Hisoka said he'll explain it to me but we never got around to it. Kyo had a nightmare and we had a hell of a time trying to calm him down. By then I was halfway asleep already."

"A nightmare kind of like your own?" Ron asked softly and he too, looked away.

Harry swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. "I. . .guess," he said reluctantly.

"Harry." There was a note of complete seriousness in that word that had Harry turning around to his friend. Ron was actually looking back and he continued. "Harry, are we still best friends?"

Harry was completely taken aback. He never expected this question to come up. "Of course we are!" he exclaimed. "Why shouldn't we?"

"Well," Ron shifted, "you've been so busy lately with Kyo and Hisoka that I hardly get to hang out with you. I don't want us to. . .you know, drift apart. It was hard enough in fourth year. . ." he trailed off.

"I'm not the only one who's busy," Harry tried for a wry tone to lighten up the air. "You and Hermione have been studying together _a lot _recently."

As expected, Ron turned a beet red. "It's nothing! I mean, NEWTS is coming up and I want to do well and—oh shut it, you!"

Harry grinned.

"Listen, Harry. We're not trying to exclude you or anything! Really! It's just. . we're still working things out and—" he stopped when Harry raised a hand to forestall him.

"I understand," he smiled. "Believe me, I do. I've been waiting since third year for you guys to get a clue. I'm glad you did."

"Har—"

"And," Harry went on firmly, determined to finish, "you two will _always _be my best friend. Always. It's just. . .you know how you have these empty spaces in your heart that different people fill? Like. . .there's space inside for your family and the Burrow, and there's yours and Hermione's and. . ." Harry made a frustrated noise. "I'm not explaining this right!"

Ron coughed, the tips of his ears turning dull red and he seemed fascinated with his hands all of a sudden. "I understand," he managed to croak out.

"You do?" Harry asked uncertainly.

Ron nodded vehemently. "Good," he said with a relieved sigh. "See, that's what Kyo is to me. Kyo and Takashi. They both fill in a different space. Just like Hisoka and Tsuzuki."

"You're closer to Kyo and Takashi though," Ron pointed out quietly.

Harry was quiet for a long moment, his green eyes focused on something only he could see and no one else. Just when Ron thought that Harry had fallen asleep again, he stirred and fixed a calm gaze on Ron, one that imparted his sincerity and belief in what he was saying.

"They're special to me," Harry admitted. "I know that I've only known them for a short while but. . .they act more like. . .parents to me. It's. . nice."

Ever since the debacle in fourth year, Ron had made a solemn vow to himself and on the Cannons that he would never ever betray Harry again. It took the silence and separation to drive in the fact that yeah, he might always be in Harry's shadow in the eyes of the wizarding world but to Harry, he was Ron Weasley. His best mate. That was enough.

"Harry," Ron started, the sincerity echoed in his own voice and expression. "You're more than my best mate. You're like my brother. Heck, even mum has adopted you into the Weasley clan."

That got a genuine smile from Harry, a smile that was too few and far in between ever since the Department of Mysteries.

"Family watch out for each other, no matter what," he said fiercely and had to stop for a bit when Harry coughed, his eyes suspiciously bright. "And I'm _worried_. I can see how much you like Kyo and Takashi but I don't trust them. Not because I'm jealous, but because I'm worried."

Harry sighed, running a hand through his messy black hair. "But I trust them," he said simply.

"Why?"

Harry worried his lower lip, giving Ron a cautious, assessing look. "I got nothing to go on but my instincts and my instincts are telling me that I can trust them."

Ron didn't have the heart to remind him about Sirius but he needn't to. Harry gave a short, biting laugh. A kind of laugh that he never thought to hear from the quiet boy. "Oh, I know that I was wrong the last time," he said with a bitter twist of the lips. "But I know, I can _feel _that this has nothing to do with Vo-you-know-who." Those bright green eyes held his and like anyone else caught in that fierce glare, Ron was enthralled. "I trust them," Harry finished with quiet conviction. "Do you trust me?"

Ron knew a losing battle when he saw one. He knew also that to push further would only drive a wedge between them, possibly breaking their friendship once again. And how could he protect Harry from a distance?

"I trust you," Ron said slowly. "But like Hermione said the other day, you don't mind us looking out for you anyway, right? It'll help me sleep better at night," he smiled crookedly.

That got an answering smile. "You wouldn't be the nosy, red-haired git I knew if you didn't."

"Hey! I'm not the only nosy one here, oh he who discovered a certain mirror which shall remain nameless, thank you."

That quickly degenerated to name-calling and dredging up events which were better left unburied (in case a certain mother and a certain other best friend ever found out about it) and a furious pillow fight that left the dorm covered with feathers. 

The two friends trudged down for breakfast together and despite the unseasonal cold and the promise of snow from the heavy clouds outside, Ron felt that all was right with the world. He had his best friend by his side and was about to sit next to another best friend who was quickly proving to be more than just.

Yes, all was right with the world.

                                                   ************

All was _not _right with the world.

Takashi stood in an alcove just off the Great Hall, his hazel-green eyes taking in the light rain of snow that had just started to fall a few minutes ago. He didn't have to confirm it to know that this bout of too-early winter was the talk on everyone's lips. All morning long, students had trooped by on their way to the Great Hall to glance outside and complain in loud voices about the unexpected winter. Almost everyone was dressed warmly, even indoors, for the cold had permeated the castle through and through. Filch had been going around earlier, dispensing oil to the suits of armour and even the portraits complained that their paint was flaking.

The snow was a silent curtain, muffling all sounds and covering any sort of tracks, animal or human, that might have been made outside in the night. The whole castle grounds were covered with pristine white, broken only by the huge prints of Hagrid's moleskin boots. Despite the calendar on the staffroom wall that insisted it was only the end of September, they were already hip deep in winter. 

Takashi knew that some people like to think that the weather can reflect your moods. Most of the time, if not all the time, it was merely lucky coincidence that it just so happened to be raining cats and dogs when you just broke up with a boyfriend or how the world was filled with sunshine when you finally got that ring you've been waiting for years.

But when it came to a certain someone, it was only too true.

He knew the reason for this early winter. He could feel it deep in his bones without even the whisper at the back of his mind. The silent, muffling snow that covered everything fell just for that reason; to silence and muffle the growing horrors and nightmares of the man he loved and could do nothing for. The one man he _knew _would have the power to affect the weather like this.

"Hold on, Kyo," he whispered to the snow. "Please hold on."

                                                    **************

Saturday (and Sunday) breakfast were casual affairs at Hogwarts. Most students and professors came dressed in Muggle clothes, the only exceptions being the strict purebloods and the Headmaster. Well, Professor McGonagall also. And maybe Snape. Then there's Hagrid for whom normal clothes will _never fit nor look right on. But in essence, most people came dressed in normal, Muggle clothes._

Right.

So Harry and Ron had foregone their robes for that day, wearing instead thick Weasley jumpers courtesy of last Christmas from Molly and heavy jeans. Ron, who was still complaining about how wrong the weather was, even had on his Gryffindor scarf. They spotted Hermione easily from the doors and quickly sat down in the empty seats she had saved for them; one on either side of her. The both of them were too hungry to mumble nothing more than a "g'morning" before diving in to the mounds of hot potatoes, bacons, eggs and cereal. Instead of the usual pumpkin juice, the house elves had wisely sent up pots of hot tea, coffee and chocolate with plenty of whipped cream to go around.

Hermione huffed something about "Boys and stomachs" and buried herself in a dusty thick tome she had dragged down to the table. Still chewing a last bit of egg, Harry squinted and could just make out the faded letterings, the gilt long gone. _Eastern Mysticism: What Your Mum Didn't Want You To Know._

"Mmphhsnnrmm?"

"Honestly, Harry!" Hermione said in deeply offended tones. "I thought you had more manners than that! You're as bad as Ron!"

"Hey!" Ron protested through a mouthful of potatoes and they were given a glimpse of just how well-mashed he had them. "I'm right here!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I rest my case," she muttered sardonically.

Harry swallowed and took the pains to enunciate his words with extra caution and slowness. "I'm sorry Hermione, but may I enquire as to why you're reading that particular book?" He got a dirty look in answer.

She sniffed disdainfully. "Unlike _some _people," here, she made a point to glare at both Harry and Ron before continuing, "I actually think that there's more to benefit from this foreign exchange program. We actually have real, live omnyouji in our midst. Don't you think this is the perfect opportunity to study how magic prevails in other parts of the world?"

Ron and Harry exchanged one brief look that conveyed an entire conversation.

"No," they chorused.

"After all," Ron said offhandedly, "We got you to tell us what we're missing out on."

"Ronald We—" Hermione started.

"You _are _the smartest witch in Hogwarts. If anyone can make us understand what we're missing on, you can."

Interestingly, that got Hermione to shut up and she blushed a pretty red. Harry had to stifle a snicker with his bacon.

"Oh shut up Harry," she blushed some more and jabbed her elbow into his side halfheartedly. "Seriously, we're given the valuable chance to study omnyoujitsu. You _do _realize the significance of it, don't you?"

Harry thought for a moment and said, "No."

She huffed again. "If you study Kyo and Hisoka closely, you'll realize that they—"

"I feel like some animal in a zoo," a dry voice interrupted. "Ladies and gentlemen, for your viewing pleasure, the rare species from the Kyo family. Notice the particular beauty of the specimen we have today?"

Hermione blushed again. "K-kyo!"

"Yes, I do believe that is my name," Kyo deadpanned and sat down right in front of Harry. He shot the boy a smile, though it was definitely a not as bright as usual and had more than a twinge of weariness to it. Hisoka had sat down as well and was helping himself with unusual gusto to the sausages, potatoes and egg. Kyo ignored the still steaming breakfast to pour himself a cup of coffee, black.  Not even adding any sugar to cut the bitter brew, Kyo drank as calmly as though he was drinking milk.

Ron felt he had to voice out his opinion on this. "Merlin! How can you drink it straight like that? That stuff's vile, mate!"

"Practice," Kyo replied blandly.

Exchanging a look with Ron, Harry frowned and leaned forwards, the better to study his friend. Despite the rather jocular quip earlier, Kyo looked tired. His face was pale and dark shadows bruised the skin underneath his eyes, giving him a haunted look. The shadows, the pale skin and the equally pale lips made his light blue eyes even lighter in comparison but it lacked its usual twinkle. His eyes were flat, shuttered windows that reflected light back instead of admitting it in.

And if Harry looked closer, he could see the hand holding the coffee cup shaking with faint tremors. 

"Kyo, you don't look so good," Harry's frown creased deeper. "Are you okay? Should you go to the hospital wing?"

At the mention of 'hospital wing', Hermione switched into mother-hen mode and closed her book with a decisive snap. A quick once-over had her concurring with Harry.

"Harry's right," she frowned in concert. "You don't look well. Are you having a fever? Why didn't you take him to Madam Pomfrey, Hisoka? It's obvious he's not feeling fine." The censure in her tone had Harry wincing and Ron to scoot a few inches away nervously. Nothing was as frightening as a Hermione in _irate _mother-hen mode. Except Mrs. Weasley perhaps.

Hisoka paused in consuming his breakfast, the fork laden with eggs halfway to his mouth. Surprisingly, Hisoka did not snap back at her. He merely lifted an eyebrow in response and set his fork down carefully. He turned to Kyo who was ignoring everyone in favour of studying the dregs of his coffee. Somehow, Harry doubted he had taken up coffee-leaf reading.

"Kyo," Hisoka asked calmly. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Why shouldn't I be?" came the mild reply. 

"Because you don't look it?"

"It must be your imagination then."

Hisoka turned back and again, lifted an eyebrow to Hermione. It was obviously a challenge. _Can you do better?_

Hemrione took a deep breath. She was never one to back down in the face of a challenge. And by Merlin, she wasn't going to start now.

"Kyo, you _really _don't look well. It's obvious to everyone. Don't you think resting in the hospital wing is much better? We'll even come visit with chocolate if you have to stay overnight!" she finished brightly. She had gone with the failsafe approach of chocolate but it was doomed to failure as well.

Kyo merely refilled his cup and stared off into space.

Harry had never seen Kyo or Takashi lose their temper, not even at the Dursleys and he didn't want to start now. Seeing Hermione getting frustrated, he decided to intervene before a row could erupt. Kyo, despite his rather calm air, was more stubborn than Hisoka on a good day.

"So, er. . .Hisoka!" he interrupted. "Where did you go off to this morning? Ron told me that you and Kyo were up before anyone else."

"We were busy being one with nature and moving in harmony with the universe," was his rather unenlightening response.

"Eh?"

"I was kicking Kyo's ass into the dirt and he returned the compliments."

"You were fighting?!" Hermione asked, shock coloring her tone.

"No, we were trying to kill each other," Hisoka said blandly. He took a swig of his coffee. "Urgh. Not enough sugar. Pass me some, Kyo," he demanded.

Kyo obligingly passed the sugar and leaned back. Harry tried to catch his eye but Kyo was intent on not making contact with anyone. His gaze had drifted up to the ceiling. The enchanted ceiling reflected the sky outside so it was a dismal gray that rained snow which disappeared a few feet above their heads. By their side, Hermione was still pestering Hisoka, trying to get him to clarify while Hisoka was obviously becoming deliberately more and more obtuse the longer she went. Hermione was almost tearing her hair out in frustration and it didn't help that Ron was sniggering quietly to himself. Harry had to admit, it _was a refreshing novelty having someone outwit Hermione so neatly like that. Fun, but potentially dangerous to the health of the one doing the baiting._

"Hey, Kyo," Ron stopped his sniggering to give Kyo a once-over himself. He raised an eyebrow and asked, in tones of complete astonishment, "Aren't you freezing your bo—er, freezing?" with a nervous look at Hermione who had growled ominously at his near slip.

Harry blinked in surprise. Sure enough, he was just realizing that while Kyo was wearing Muggle clothes like everyone else, he was wearing only a t-shirt and jeans. A short-sleeved t-shirt and jeans. Even Hisoka was wearing a thick sweater.

"It's too hot for me," Kyo replied in faraway tones. 

Hisoka, Harry noted, was carefully avoiding catching anyone's gaze.

"Hot? Hot?! Have you gone bonkers? It's _freezing_! Hell, it's snowing!" Ron said indignantly as though Kyo's comment was an affront equal to an insult.

Kyo set his cup down on the table and stared deep into it. Harry could just make out his lashes drifting gently down to dust pale cheeks. "Not cold enough," he whispered.

Right, Kyo was seriously freaking him out. Harry felt the worry bubbling up and he shot Hisoka a panicked look. Hisoka only frowned slightly and shook his head once. But before he could protest, much less drag Kyo off to the infirmary no matter he claimed not to be sick, Takashi was walking towards them. Harry was glad to see that Takashi was at least dressed sensibly in a black wool sweater and heavy cords. That meant he only had to be worried about Kyo.

Or not. Takashi, as he stood over them with a faint smile, looked almost as bad as Kyo. The only difference between them was that there was at least a spark of life in his eyes. Kyo's was as cold as the snow.

"Good morning," he nodded his greeting. They murmured their greetings back, sans Kyo who kept staring down into his cup. He ignored Takashi who was standing right behind him and didn't even stir when the professor laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Kyo. Can I talk to you outside for a moment?"

Without a sign of acknowledgement, Kyo stood up and strode out of the Hall, Takashi at his heels. It wasn't just Harry and his friends who kept track of them until the great doors blocked their view. From the High Table, a pair of twinkling blue eyes and a pair glittering black watched as well. But they didn't let such a thing as wooden doors to stop them. With a nod from the Headmaster, Snape gave his wand a little flick and a jet of wispy red light streaked out, weaving past the students' legs and it disappeared around the great doors.

Outside, reflected by the enchanted ceiling, the sky turned darker and the whirl of snowflakes thickened until it was a veritable wall of white.

*****to be continued*****

**Shiozaki****: **Praise me. I need praise. 


	12. Chapter 12:Deny your fears, deny your gu...

**Title: When Death Comes A' knocking**

**Author: Shiozaki**

**Plot Mistresses: Shiozaki, Shaynie, Literary Eagle, LibraryCat**

**Spellmaker****: Literary Eagle**

**Chapter Warning: Angsty!Kyo, Tortured!Takashi, Suspicious!Dumbledore, Snarky!Snape**

**Scene Master: Shiozaki & LibraryCat**

**Author's Note: Penny, Twylise, Feye Morgan, not so innocent bystander, Kodomo Hikari, tenshiamanda, Clef's love, Betula, DK Adeena, devil-angel-asuka; **

I am so sorry I can't reply individually but I'm really in a rush and trying desperately to fulfil my once-a-week-updates promise! But thank you so much for your kind reviews! You people keep me going!

**To hisokajess13: You probably won't be reading this but I dedicate it to all flamers; that's right. You know what you are? A flamer. And I don't have any respect for flamers because you don't have respect for others. You don't like my stories? Fine. To each his/her own. You want to comment? Fine. Do so constructively. When all you do is bleet out your insults, you're basically giving us a view of just what kind of a person you really are and frankly; it's not much to look at. Have respect for others and maybe you'll find respect for yourself one fine day.**

**                                                                       Chapter 12**

**                                                        Deny your fears, deny your guilt**

                                                                  ******************

Kyo walked briskly, ignoring curious stares from students and teachers alike. Takashi's own quiet footsteps echoed his, a welcomed, yet at the same time, detested presence hovering behind him. It managed to burn through the mist clouding his mind a little; that he actually detested Takahsi's presence. It was a surprising enough realisation that as he rounded the corner off the doors of the Great Hall, he stumbled, foot caught on nothing but air and like quicksilver, Takashi was there, a warm hand on his elbow that strangely enough, cooled his fevered skin.

Seeing no one around, Takashi took the opportunity to lean closer, pushing Kyo up against the wall, the better for him to balance. But he did nothing more than to cup Kyo's pale cheek. Over a month spent apart and he was doing nothing more than this. His smile was bitter and twisted. A reflection of Kyo's own as his husband leaned into the touch, sighing a sigh that sounded as though it came from the very soles of his feet.

"I hate you," Kyo mumbled.

Takashi's smiled grew even bitterer. Not because he thought that Kyo was rejecting him, but because he truly believed him. Kyo hated him, as he hated Kyo. For to be apart brought pain and torment and longing yet to be close like this and knowing it was to be the briefest of contacts, the shallowest touch, gave more pain than comfort. Kyo hated him because of this. He hated Kyo because of this.

Such a strange, convoluted and heavy burden that love is.

"If it's any consolation," Takashi replied lightly, "I hate you too."

Kyo laughed, a short, snapped sound that was like ice breaking. "Good to know." He fell silent then, eyes wandering to the side and Takashi's followed. They were just in time to see a wispy, ephemeral red light shooting round the corner and to disappear a few feet before them. One of the stones in the wall glowed a very brief red.

Kyo laughed again, dark humour lighting his eyes. "What do you want, Taka?"

Takashi sighed. He still cupped Kyo's face tenderly while the other hand moved up to brush Kyo's hair. Kyo gave a strangled half-sob, nearly a whimper before pulling sharply away. "Don't do that," he said raggedly.

They stood with distance between them. A distance of only a foot yet felt like a yawning chasm.

"It's getting worse," Takashi said simply. Kyo made to open his mouth but Takashi quickly cut him off; though his voice was gentle, his words held silent rebuke because he knew what Kyo had intended. "Don't try to convince me otherwise. You think I can't feel it?"

Kyo snapped his mouth closed, looked at anywhere but him before finally relenting and meeting his gaze. "You weren't supposed to," he said in wretched tones. Anguish crossed his face, the first true emotion he showed that morning and Takashi felt a dim hope rise within. It was better than having Kyo lock everything up inside behind a wall of ice. Better he saw the suffering and pain than having it hid away to wonder, when will the breaking point come? How will it come?

"Did you really think I wouldn't sense the spells you put up? Or that I would actually leave them in place?" Takashi raised a wry eyebrow.

"Damn you," Kyo said tonelessly. He hung his head in weary defeat, the black locks hiding his eyes. "And damn me," he added.

"Aren't we all?"

"Not funny," Kyo groused out but Takashi was cheered enough by the flickering smile that tried to show itself. "So," Kyo sighed, and made a visible effort to stand straight, squaring his shoulders back and fixing a more believable smile on his face; all in all, showing the world that he was alright and what on earth made you think otherwise? 

Dear Enma, sometimes he really wanted to strangle the boy and kiss him silly at the same time.

He told Kyo that and that got a more believable smile from him. "Can't," Kyo teased lightly. "That would fall under inappropriate conduct between a student and a professor." He flicked another sideways glance at the stone that had flared red with the earlier spell. It was his cue to begin.

Takashi squared his shoulder as well. Whatever time he had managed to finagle was quickly slipping away. Already he could hear the sound of scraping benches and laughter floating out. Breakfast was coming to an end soon.

"The Headmaster has kindly allowed the four of us time to get away today. We're allowed to go down to Hogsmeade before the first official visit on Samhain," Takashi said, careful to show nothing but cheer and good humour in his tone and words. That didn't stop Kyo from scowling darkly at the mention of the Headmaster.

"Yes, how kind of him," Kyo echoed wryly with a roll of his eyes. Glad to see that a little bit of life was returning to him, Takashi allowed himself a full smile and was gratified to see it returned. The jumble of voices coming nearer warned them that the first wave of students were coming out. Kyo quickly leaned forwards and kissed his cheek, a brief, yet tender touch of cold lips. Takashi had to stop himself from flinching from the icy touch. Whatever reprieve their little meeting had given them, was not enough.

"Kyo." He caught his husband's arm in an urgent grip as Kyo made to move back into the Great Hall. Kyo looked back questioningly. "It's snowing."

Kyo looked out of a nearby window, a window that showed the silent, thick fall of snow that distorted the scenery outside. This time, the smile had reverted back to its parody. He said, in a faint voice that was retreating back to its ghostly echo, "It's beautiful, ne?" And he slipped out of his hands, a wraith in a blue t-shirt and jeans, moving silently through the press and yet, touching no one. Takashi watched him walked back to the Gryffindor table, sitting down next to Hisoka and giving the others his parody-smile. He didn't need to look to know that Hisoka did not buy it. But he didn't know whether to be surprised, or gratified, that Harry, by the expression on his face, didn't either.

The stone flared red once.

                                                     *****************

"Right, let me see if I got this right. Llud, father of Gwynn, the fairy god, is the God of Death."

"Yes."

"But it's the Fates that cut the threads of life."

"Yeah."

"And there's Queen Hel, ruler of Nilfheim, who gets mortals who dies of age and disease."

"Correct."

"And warriors or soldiers get Asgard, or the Hall of Valhalla which is ruled by Odin."

"Uh-huh."

"Then there's Tech Duinn, ruled by Donn, which serves as a temporary resting place for the souls before judgment."

"Got that in one."

"What is with these people and sorting? Do they have some kind of a fetish?" Tsuzuki's comment came out in rather more of a whine than he had intended. He yawned and propped his drooping head up between his hands. His robes were wrinkled and his cloak wet with the snow they had walked through to get to the Three Broomsticks. The pub was a cheery enough place with warm fires and good drinks but dear lord, he was getting a headache. Notes scrawled on scraps of parchment littered the table were evidence of their discussion; namely, the inner workings of the British Ministry of the Dead and what the hell were they supposed to be doing.

Hisoka glanced at him, irritation clear in his frown and thinned lips. "Idiot. Didn't you read the briefing folders? Listen to the mission profile? Anything?"

Tsuzuki gave a sort of muffled half whine, head buried on his elbows.

"Well, I did, and I don't get it, either," Takashi admitted. "Let's give it up for tonight, okay?" Tsuzuki looked up from his abject pose and Takashi shot him a sympathetic smile as he shuffled the pages into a heap. Several of the sheets were pinned by empty butterbeer bottles and he made a _tsk_-ing sound as he wiped off the rings of moisture that had accumulated. Beside him, Kyo slouched morosely in his seat.

"Enma, this place is a jurisdictional mess," the boy complained. He picked up his bottle and tipped it upside down over his mouth, draining the last few drops. Unlike the others who were dressed as warmly as possible, Kyo had opted to just sling on a sweater over his t-shirt and a cloak to cover him up. He had insisted that it was too hot for anything more.

Squinting, Kyo scowled as he realized that his butterbeer was drained to the dregs. Only two hours at the pub and they had already accumulated quite a number of empty bottles that Madam Rosmerta, the bartender, had yet to pick up.

"You can say that again," Tsuzuki agreed cheerfully. Hisoka groaned and hid his face in his hands. Takashi grinned in anticipation.

"What?" Kyo demanded irritably. His three companions stared at him expectantly. "Oh, all right. This place is a jurisdictional mess. There. Are you happy now?"

"Kyo. . ." Takashi's smile faded. He abandoned the parchments, reaching for his husband's hand instead. Kyo evaded the gesture, his scowl turning into a brief look of anguish before the scowl surfaced again.

"Don't. That Order member is still watching," he snapped. "And you better hide those parchments. He's already getting too suspicious." They all had realized the presence of someone trailing behind them ever since they left Hogwarts but they had taken the necessary protections. Wards around their table ensured that even should they be spied upon, the listener would only get meaningless jumble and Takashi had used a shikigami to keep track of the spy's movement 

Kyo had found the presence of the spy to be a personal affront; one he was all too willing to blame on the Headmaster. They all knew it was more than likely. Dumbledore _is_ the head of the Order of the Phoenix but for Kyo, it was getting to be a personal vendetta. Because of it, his mood had steadily gotten from bad to worse. Takashi had thought the day might have improved since breakfast, at least, the walk down had indicated that. But the closer they got to the village, it had become apparent that the spy was intent on shadowing them the entire day and that promptly returned the scowl to Kyo's normally good natured face. 

Even now, he glared at the wall, the table top, anywhere but at Takashi, his throat working as he swallowed convulsively. "I'll go get us another round of butterbeers." he said thickly, wrenching his chair back in a squealing protest on the plank flooring.

Hisoka seized the opportunity to quickly fill the others in on what had been happening. Takashi listened with a sinking heart as dread started to curdle in his stomach.

"Dear Enma. How can you not have known that something like this would happen when you sent us here?" Takashi sighed. 

"I could help," Hisoka offered quietly. "I can try to connect you guys together at night. It's better than nothing."

"It's no use," Takashi said flatly. "Even now he's keeping me out. He doesn't want me to see how's bad he's getting and with you connecting us, I'll definitely know."

Tsuzuki raised an eyebrow. "Like you don't already?" he asked mildly.

Takashi sighed again. "For him, that's beside the point."

Before they could go any further, Kyo had returned, a floating tray loaded with the addictive butterbeer trailing behind like an obedient puppy. Kyo plopped down back into his seat and gestured irritably. The tray landed on the table with a soft 'thump'. A bottle each was dispensed to Hisoka, Tsuzuki and Takashi while three went to Kyo. At Takashi's silent enquiry, Kyo snapped, "She refused to give me anything stronger. It was the best that I could do."

"Getting drunk," Takashi said with exaggerated patience, "is not the best way to go about this."

Kyo hissed, his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. Hisoka and Tsuzuki were both rather alarmed, seeing him like this. They both knew that Kyo and Takashi fought. Every couple did. But the most violent they ever saw Kyo and Takashi get were just screaming matches. It was probable that even if it got more than that, neither would tell but still, it was rather frightening seeing the normally cheerful face transform into something dark.

"Do I have a choice?" Kyo set his bottle down with a bang and the only reason no one noticed was because of the muffling wards. But from the corner of his eye, Hisoka could see the Order spy who had seated himself in a dark corner leaning forwards eagerly.

"This _is _the best we could do!" Takashi hissed back. His hand shot out to grab Kyo's in a tight grip that looked quite painful. Kyo didn't try to pull away but the looks they exchanged were positively murderous. Already, the snow outside was thickening, a rising wind obscuring what little scenery could be seen.

"If this," Kyo said slowly, deliberately, each word painfully bitten off, "is the best, than I rather not see nor hear from you _at all."_

Tsuzuki and Hisoka were not prepared for what happened next. Takashi, still not letting go of his tight grip on Kyo's wrist, grabbed the back of Kyo's neck in an equally vicelike grip and brought their faces close together. Tsuzuki nearly leapt out of his chair in alarm if it wasn't for Hisoka's restraining hand.

"Listen to me," Takashi hissed. His face was twisted into a feral snarl, their fierce embrace a twisted parody of a kiss. "Look outside that window. _Look!_"

Kyo tried to twist out of his grip but Takashi wasn't going to budge. "Let me go!" Kyo sounded desperate, trying to claw his way free but Takashi merely tightened his hold. "Let me go!"

"_Look out the window!_"

"No!"

"_Look!_"

Kyo gasped harshly, trying to breathe. His blue eyes were wide with fear, pupils dilated until it was all irises. He had ceased fighting Takashi and his gaze was riveted to the scene outside the window; the winterland that was Hogsmeade.

"Do you see that? Do you? You're losing control Kyo. And it's getting worse by the day. I can't help you, not like this. Not now. _You can't let this go on! People are going to get hurt!_"

Kyo whimpered. He shut his eyes, tried to bury his face in Takashi's neck but Takashi kept his grip, kept forcing him to look out the window.

Takashi shook him like a limp rag doll.

"Kyo!"

"I'm sorry!" Kyo burst out and the instant the words left his lips, Takashi released him and he crumpled like a puppet cut loose of its strings. This time, his touch was all tenderness and love as Takashi gathered Kyo into his embrace, Kyo's face buried in his lap and he drew his cloak over the shaking boy, shielding him from view.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry," Kyo sobbed. His huddled, cloaked form was trembling with harsh, wracking sobs. "I tried, I'm so sorry, I'll do better, I promise."

Takashi rocked him back and forth, rubbing his back soothingly. "It's alright," he whispered. His face was tracked with silent tears even as he kept on whispering assurances. "It's going to be fine. We can do this. You can do this."

Tsuzuki and Hisoka kept silent vigil, watching over their friends and never letting go of the wards, letting them this moment of shattered, broken peace.

And in a dark corner, where a cloaked, hooded man sat, a lone electric blue eye whirled crazily in its socket.

                                                         ***************

Harry loved Gryffindor House. He loved its tall, graceful tower, the winding staircases that on alternate Thursdays won't let you climb them until you tell them a good joke, the huge four poster beds with its velvet red hangings and the cheery, roaring fireplace that was the centre of attraction of the common room. Yes, there were many things to be loved or liked about Gryffindor.

But being in the common room on a Saturday night trying to do your homework would set even a saint screaming for a good _Avada__ Kedavra _to shut everyone up.

Harry growled and decided a good head bang against the scarred wooden table he was currently using would be a marvellous idea indeed. Oh my, yes, a very good idea.

"Harry? You're banging your head," came the most astute and most amused observation.

Harry ceased his impromptu self-torture to look up into chocolate brown eyes. "Ginny," he grinned weakly. "Hi."

Ginny's smile was infectiously bright and Harry found his grin automatically becoming wider. "May I?" Ginny gestured.

"Yeah, sure." Harry scooted farther up the couch and Ginny sat herself down quite demurely, though the twinkle in her eyes were anything but.

"So what were you doing that had you traumatising the poor table like that?"

Harry blushed, gesturing rather dispiritedly at the scraps of parchment that littered the table. He summed it up in one word. "Divination."

Ginny winced in sympathy. "Ouch. Trelawney or Firenze?"

Since Dumbledore reinstated himself back into the Headmaster's post, Firenze had stayed on as part of the permanent staff, along with Trelawney who had tearfully accepted Dumbledore's offer to come back. Since then, Divination had been evenly split between the two professors; a month with Trelawney and a month with Firenze, alternating until the semester ended. Needless to say, the students were getting rather lost, swinging as they did from Trelawney's doom and gloom predilection to Firenze's vague assurances that humans were generally stupid, blind and deaf and can't be expected to read the stars right so no worries if you can't even see a bloody stork in the constellations.

"Trelawney," Harry said glumly. "We're only getting Firenze next week. At least he doesn't predict my death every class," he added sourly with a jaundiced look at the parchments scrawled with his latest 'dreams' and his interpretations of it. "You're not taking Divination right?"

Ginny laughed brightly, tossing her hair back. "Are you kidding? After seeing you and Roin slaving away each week trying to come up with ways to die? No thanks. I'd rather do Arithmancy."

Harry placed a hand over his heart, mock frown on his face. "And another evidence of Hermione's spreading evilness; corrupting young minds, bending them towards the path of actual thinking."

"You could benefit from that," Ginny replied archly.

"No I can't. I'm doing badly enough _not _thinking. Can you imagine the disasters that'll happen if I actually use my brain for once?" Harry deadpanned.

They exchanged grins at that and suddenly, Harry was struck by how easy their conversation was. Ever since the DA, Ginny had slowly but steadily getting over her chronic shyness around him and it was a refreshing change, having an actual, honest to goodness conversation with Ron's sister. It felt nice, having someone else besides Ron and Hermione to hang around with once in a while; a person who did not have any mysterious past and isn't prone to dropping vague hints about the near future. In short; a _normal _person.

Before Harry could explore the thought further, he slowly became aware of a peripheral conversation; one that caught his interest and by the looks of it, Ginny as well. Hermione and Ron were actually down in the common room as well, though sitting a bit apart from Harry which Ron claimed was because he needed Hermione's help with a Herbology homework (Harry wisely refrained from pointing out that Ron had finished that particular work two days ago and it wasn't even due till next week. He was rather fond of staying alive). What caught their interest was the conversation, or rather, interrogation, Hermione-style, that Hisoka was currently going through.

"What is he meditating on?" Hermione frowned. "_Why _does he need to meditate?"

"Because it's good for him?" Hisoka said mildly.

"What are you guys talking about?" Harry cut in. "Who's meditating?"

"Kyo," Ron supplied helpfully. "I was up in our dorm earlier and Kyo was sitting on his bed all spaced out. Couldn't even get him to move."

Harry felt an all-too familiar alarm rising up. He couldn't deny that Kyo's behaviour was becoming increasingly erratic of late and this spaced out episode seemed another likely indication. It didn't help that Hisoka refused to elaborate and Kyo kept on turning a deaf ear when he tried to ask tactfully.

"Is he okay?" Harry asked anxiously. "He's not sick is he? He didn't look so good when all of you came back from Hogsmeade earlier."

Hisoka huffed impatiently, sure sign his patience was wearing thin. "I told you, he's meditating. He's been having trouble sleeping lately and meditation usually helps."

"So what does he meditate on?" Hermione asked insistently.

_That's Hermione alright_, Harry couldn't help thinking fondly. _Like a bloody terrier with a bone. Won't let go, no matter how hard you try._

"Hisoka?"

Hisoka growled. "World peace."

"Seriously!"

"For Professor Snape's compassionate side to shine through?"

Hermione spluttered.

"Oh, alright. He's meditating on the best ways to have sex with Takashi behind Dumbledore's back. Have any ideas to contribute?"

Hermione choked. Ron squeaked. Ginny giggled. Harry sighed.

And Kyo came down the stairs, wearing a grey robe tied with a thin, dark blue sash. He wandered over to their little group and seeing them, raised an eyebrow. "What happened? You people looked rather gob smacked."

Ron wheezed.

"Nothing! Nothing!" Hermione laughed nervously. "So! Er. . ."

Kyo was looking at her strangely, as the normally articulate Hermione was stuttering like a first year and blushing a red that rivalled the Weasley hair color. "Has Hisoka been saying things again?" he demanded as he absently swung a leg over the couch and good-naturedly shoved Harry out of the way, completely oblivious to the fact that his robe had ridden high doing so and they were afforded a glimpse of just how long his legs were. Harry distinctly heard choking sounds from the corner where Parvati and Lavender were doing their homework. Even Ginny was blushing faintly.

"What is that you're wearing?" Harry demanded, a touch of irritation in his voice. Kyo glanced over at him and suddenly, grinned faintly. 

"It's called a yukata," he smiled innocently. "It's what we usually wear to relax or sleep in. So," he turned back to Hisoka who was slouching comfortably in an armchair, a slightly smug look on the blond boy's face clearly evident. "You've been saying things haven't you?"

"I," Hisoka sniffed disdainfully, "do not. . ._say _things. I was merely offering possible explanations as to why you were upstairs making a pretty good impression of a drugged up loon."

Kyo scoffed, waving a hand negligently. "Ch. I was just meditating on ways to have sex with Takashi behind Dumbledore's back."

Hermione was starting to sound like a tea kettle on boil. Ron was on the verge of passing out. Ginny was getting highly amused. Harry resisted the urge to bang his head again.

                                                 ****************

_". . .beautiful, ne?"_

Before they could continue, the door swung open without even a token knock. Dumbledore only raised a bushy eyebrow at his rather rude visitor while Lupin and Snape swivelled around in surprise. That is, Lupin showed surprise. Snape showed his beneath a mask of annoyance.

"Alastor," Dumbledore smiled in welcome. "You're just in time. We were reviewing some information we gathered earlier and could use your input."

Alastor 'Mad-eye' Moody grunted, unimpressed. His peg leg stomped out a hollow tune every other step and his grey, serviceable cloak dripped water all the way into the Headmaster's office, right to the point where he threw himself into an armchair that had obligingly popped into existence when Dumbledore gave his wand a little twirl.

"It's colder than the Dark Lord's bollocks out there," Moody grumbled and nodded an acceptance when Dumbledore offered him some Firewhisky. "Damn snow got into my boots and some hell-forsaken bird dumped an entire load of snow down my back."

The Headmaster's long beard was twitching suspiciously while Lupin stifled a smile behind a hand. Moody on a good day was cheerfully grumpy. Moody on a bad day either meant entertainment or red ears for the unlucky sod. Snape though, found it all to be a waste of time and he immediately sneered.

"You _did _keep an eye on them, didn't you?" he demanded.

Moody growled, his magical eye swirling crazily in its socket until the blue irises settled firmly upon the Potions professor.

"I'm not some fresh faced Auror on his first mission, you insolent pup," he snapped. "I did what I had to."

"Gentlemen. _Please_."

With a last, hard glare between them, both Moody and Snape sank back in their seats, each determined to ignore the other. Dumbledore had to shake his head. He wondered, for a brief, ludicrous moment, whether Voldemort had to contend with childish bickering between his Death Eaters as well.

_Ah well_, Dumbledore sighed to himself.

"This weather's unnatural," Moody snapped suddenly.

"Oh?" Dumbledore asked in his best senile voice.

"It's bloody October for Merlin's sake! And have you realised that this weather is concentrated around the school and Hogsmeade only?" Moody thumped a gnarled fist on the armrest. "It's bloody autumn just five miles from the outskirts of the village!"

Dumbledore frowned, steepling long fingers together beneath his chin. "I was afraid of that," he murmured.

"That idiot Fudge is convinced that it's Voldemort's work," Moody sourly concluded.

He didn't have to wait long for Snape to rise to the bait. "I am perfectly aware of the Dark Lord's duplicity and schemes," he hissed, "But this is not his work. Silas assured me of this!"

"And why do we trust the word of a Death Eater?" was Moody's cool reply.

That had been too far apparently. Snape jumped to his feet, his wand appearing in his hand in the blink of an eye and trained unerringly over Moody's heart. "You and your thrice-damned suspicions! The Snape and Silas family has long been allies and we would no sooner betray the alliance than I would ever turn back to the Dark Lord! The Silas made their choice based on hard facts, not free will! Not as I foolishly did all those years ago!"

Moody jumped to his feet as well and his stance was straight and true despite his wooden leg. If possible, his wand was in his hand faster than Snape's had and it too, was trained over Snape's heart.

"And who says that once a Death Eater, isn't always a Death Eater?" he demanded.

This time, Dumbledore forgo the scolding and went straight instead to a quick whip of his wand that had bright power cracking through the room.

_"Enough."_

Moody and Snape, no matter their wish to the contrary, found themselves dropping back into their chairs and not an inch could they lift their wands.

"I'll skip the lecture, _gentlemen_, because frankly, I am sick and tired of repeating myself," Dumbledore said bluntly and the two guilty ones had the grace to look moderately ashamed. "As I was about to ask," he continued serenely, "Severus, we are positive that this isn't Voldemort's handiwork?"

"No," Snape muttered, still sounding rather churlish.

"Then who do you think is responsible Headmaster?" Lupin finally spoke up. His amber eyes were earnest with worry and apprehension. "Or do you think it's merely a freakish act of nature? A coincidence perhaps?"

"I've long ago stopped believing in coincidences," the Headmaster replied mildly. "Rather, I feel we could benefit from another review of this mornng's conversation that Severus has managed to record."

With that, Dumbledore nodded to a glass sphere, cradled in a little, three-legged iron stand by the edge of his desk, nearest to Snape. The glass sphere was filled with a misty reddish smoke that swirled agitatedly, as though seeking a way out. Dumbledore had finally deemed the chastisement enough apparently as Snape had no trouble lifting his wand this time. 

Pale, long finger curled delicately around the ebony wand, Snape tapped the sphere gently, once. 

The sphere was a Pensieve of sorts, except that instead of storing memories in visual form, it could only keep auditory records, and at a limited number at that. With Snape activating it, the red-white mist stilled, slowly condensing and it pulsed, once.

Voices, phantom, bodiless voices, filled the office and even the portraits stilled in their frames, the better to listen.

_"I hate you."_

_"If it's any consolation, I hate you too."_

_"Good to know."_

A brief pause.

_"What do you want, Taka?"_

Another brief pause, this time cut by a strangled sound, like a wordless sob.

_"Don't do that."_

_"It's getting worse. Don't try to convince me otherwise. You think I can't feel it?"_

_"You're not supposed to."_

_"Did you really think I wouldn't sense the spells you put up? Or that I would actually leave them in place?"_

_"Damn you. And damn me as well."_

_"Aren't we all?"_

They listened to the rest of the conversation in silence but it was the tail end that really caught their interest.

_"Kyo, it's snowing."_

_"It's beautiful, ne?"_

Snape tapped the sphere again and the voices died away before it could be repeated. There was silence between the occupants of the room before it was broken by Lupin's uneasy shifting.

"I may be imagining it," he started cautiously, "but there seems to be a special significance to Matsumada's talk about the snow."

Snape nodded. "I heard it as well. He seems to imply as though the Shiozaki boy ought to know something about it."

"Is it possible?" Intrigued by the newest mystery, Moody forgot his usual Snape-baiting and leaned forwards, pinning the Headmaster with both magical and mundane eye. "Both Matsumada and Shiozaki were fighting in the Three Broomsticks earlier. I couldn't hear what they were saying but they were definitely fighting. And the boy had a little breakdown afterwards."

"I don't know what to say," Dumbledore admitted. "As Remus has observed, the Japaneses' magical ability is hard to measure. They use no wands and we get the feeling that they're holding back. Just how powerful they are is anybody's guess."

"And there is that cheery little fact that Potter seems to have taken a shine to them," Snape reminded them sourly.

"So is it possible that the four of them are somehow responsible for this weather phenomenon?" Dumbledore laid his hands on the table, palms open indicating his helplessness. "I don't know. But we do have one important question we must have answered."

Lupin voiced it out for them.

"Are they with us, or against us?"

******to be continued******

**Shiozaki****: **Must rush! Have to hurry back! So sorry it sucks! Will make it better!


	13. Chapter 13:Part I, When you star no long...

**Title: When Death Comes A' knocking**

**Author: Shiozaki**

**Plot Mistresses: Shiozaki, Shaynie, Literary Eagle, LibraryCat**

**Spellmaker****: Literary Eagle**

**Chapter Warning: Rhymes. Be afraid. Be very afraid.**

**Scene Master: Shiozaki & LibraryCat**

**Author's Note:**

**                                                                                Chapter 13**

**                                                                  When your star no longer shines**

"Hey, Kyo."

"Hmm?" Kyo looked up from his contemplation of his shoes as they walked down the dim hallways of Hogwarts. Harry and Ron were headed down for Divination with a Professor Firenze, the famous trio having Hermione conspicuously absent. Harry had informed them earlier that Hermione did not believe in such 'hogwash'. And that was her polite way of saying it.

Green eyes, though obscured by the assuredly ugly round glasses, seemed almost incandescent, as they plunged from the island of light from the torches, to the inky darkness in between. Harry hesitated, perhaps trying to form his words and Kyo amused himself in the meantime.

_What rhymes with 'green'? He wondered to himself. _Lean, bean, mean, dean, keen. . . .Hmm. ..I'm the lean, mean, green bean keen dean? _That little voice in his head had to stop and take pause. __That didn't make any sort of sense at all. _

"You seem to be doing better lately," Harry finally ventured.

"Eh?" Interrupted from his mental discourse of synonyms, and things that rhymes with green, Kyo paused, letting Hisoka and Ron go on ahead. The blond boy was looking extremely confused as an enthusiastic Ron tried to explain Quidditch. "I do?" he asked, a pleased smile forming on his face.

Harry nodded, grateful that his observation didn't cause any ire. "Yeah, you do." The smile on his face brightened, then darkened subsequently. "I was getting worried." He too had stopped alongside Kyo and studied his own scuffed shoes with fixed interest. "I realise it's hard for you to be away from Takashi and. . ." he trailed off awkwardly. "I'm just—"

"Sorry?" Kyo supplied. Harry gave him a quick glance which promptly fell back to his shoes. "Don't be. None of this is your fault," Kyo shrugged easily. He slung an arm over Harry's shoulder companiably, urging him along. He could hear the sound of footsteps coming up behind them and had no wish to conduct such a conversation in the halls. While it was true that he had been doing better, it was a constant trial. The meditation helped and he had been more than chagrined to discover that yes, his control _had slipped, affecting the unusual weather patterns. Two hard days of meditating and ordering the tumult in his mind had helped the weather to settle somewhat. It took such a long time because for one, you can't turn the weather on and off like a switch and two, he ran the risk of being discovered._

He had also discovered, that if he kept his mind occupied with, preferably, inane (read; things that a generally normal person does not wonder about) matters, he ran a lesser chance of dwelling on things best unremembered and thus, decrease his chances of burying Dum-sorry, Hogwarts, under the ice storm of the century.

Hence, the whole rhyming. . . .thing.

He lowered his voice, not looking at Harry but reassuring him with a gentle squeeze around the shoulders. "It's my own fault," he said softly. "I'm not strong enough." It was a good thing that he kept his face turned for Harry would then witness just _how weak he was. Damn his eyes for betraying too much. "If anything," he added, "I'm sorry for making you upset."_

Harry shook his head vigorously. "No! Don't say that! I'm just glad you're better and everything."

They walked in companiable silence for awhile, almost catching up with Ron and Hisoka.

"There's a difference between cobbing and a discreet nudge! It's a matter of perception and depth!"

Hisoka was looking politely confused.

"Kyo," Harry said suddenly.

"Hmm?" _A green tin dancing on a bin makes quite a din. "What?"_

"How's everything going?" he asked cautiously. Judging by the guarded look, Kyo could give a good guess as to what he meant by 'everything'.

"We're pretty much stuck," Kyo answered cheerfully. "We've been knocking our heads against the wall trying to understand how you British wizards work. Not a topic for the feeble minded," he finished ominously, complete with a ticklish jab into Harry's side.

"Hey!" Harry yelped. "Stop that!"

                                                    ****************

"Well. . . that was weird."

"What was?"

". . . .Divination. . ."

A snort. "Don't tell me you're buying into that junk!"

"It was Firenze! We all know that centaurs aren't shams!" Ron growled; surprisingly losing his patience fast. Not that the 'losing patience' part was surprising. It was the cause of it. Hermione.

According to the latest Hogwarts' rumours, Hermione can do no wrong in Ron's eyes but apparently, there is an exception. The two of them had been sitting in the library (normal for Hermione, an amusing novelty for Ron) ever since lunch ended, the two of them not having any classes. Harry had taken off back to the tower, dragging Kyo and Hisoka along after eliciting a game of Gobstones from the Japanese. Taking advantage of the moment, Ron had dragged Hermione off to the library and the last ten minutes were spent arguing _why _is it what Firenze said was so important.

"Honestly, Ron!" Hermione huffed impatiently. "We all know that Divination isn't what it's cracked up to be. You only have to take one look at Trelawney to know."

Ron leaned back in the hard seat, a scowl set firmly on his face. "And it was Firenze that warned Harry about You-Know-Who trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone in first year," he reminded her grimly.

Hermione shut her mouth with a snap. After a furious minute of twirling a lock of hair around her finger nervously, Hermione nodded. "Alright," she said decisively. "What did he say exactly?"

Ron shot her a warm grin and it _must _have been due to the heat, Hermione comforted herself despite the fact that the castle was _cold, that her cheeks turned red._

"This was the first time that Kyo and Hisoka took Divination with Firenze," Ron leaned forwards, warming up to the retelling when Hermione leaned forwards as well, that bright twinkle in her eyes sure sign of her quest for knowledge. "When we walked in, the classroom was done up like usual, as though we're outside underneath the stars.

Firenze wasn't paying attention to the class exactly; he kept on looking up at the sky. He just told us to sit down, lie back and join him. Me and Harry were just about to when Firenze took a good look at Kyo and Hisoka and, I swear, Hermione, he got the strangest look on his face, like he's seen a ghost.

He came up to us (ignoring me and Harry completely), and said to Kyo and Hisoka, 'your stars no longer shines.'"

Hermione blinked. And waited. "And. . .?"

Ron flushed, and said hurriedly. "Kyo and Hisoka just stared back at him and he repeated, 'your stars no longer shines.' Kyo laughed and said 'it hasn't for a long time.'"

Hermione chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully, a finger studiously mangling the abused lock of hair again. "What about Hisoka?"

"He didn't say a word. Just gave Firenze a good long look and Firenze actually stumbled back."

Ron slumped in his seat, letting out a sigh with his story told. Hermione had gotten that little frown on her face, indicating deep thought and Ron waited eagerly to hear it.

"I think. . ." she said slowly.

"Yeah?" Ron leaned on his elbows, fixing a hopeful smile. Surely Hermione could figure it out. Merlin knows he had been cracking his head open trying to do so. He hadn't wanted to approach Harry about it, because the boy had dismissed Firenze's words as ramblings. It didn't take a genius to know that Harry would not want to hear about the suspicions his best friends had about his new ones.

Hermione continued. "I think. . . .I think we need to do some research."

An audible thump rang out through the library as a certain head connected with a wooden table. "Hermione!"

                                                        *************

**                                                                Part II**

**                                                             Snapshots**

                                                        *************

"Well!" Takashi said brightly. "That was interesting."

Kyo coughed disparagingly. Hisoka sighed. Remus blinked.

"Er. . . .it could have been worse," Harry offered a consolation of sorts.

_Bloody peacemaker_, Kyo thought fondly to himself. _I wonder how many peacemakers does it take to change a light bulb? _

"Harry," Hisoka said with exaggerated patience, "I _doubt _it could get worse than this." Since he was the one who got turned into a human bowling ball, Harry had to concede.

Hermione ventured her own professional opinion of the matter. "It's Murphy's Law," she said wisely.

"Screw Murphy," Kyo replied wisely.

Remus surveyed them all with the air of one who had seen too much and is wondering, what next? The Defense class had seen some pretty interesting times today, that's for sure.

The south wing class had been emptied of seats and tables for today. The bare stone floors were swept clean earlier by Takashi and Hisoka had even scattered salt at the doorway. To drive away evil, the boy had explained patiently to Remus. The initial preparations done, Takashi had taken a piece of chalk and drawn near perfect concentric circles, one inside another, covering the whole floor, overlaying a pentagram. Strange symbols had been marked in the four cardinal directions, with smaller ones interspersed in between. The class which had trooped in just as Takashi were finishing up, had been instructed to wait by the edges of the circle as the circle was completed. The students had fidgeted nervously, eyeing each other and the Japanese with apprehension.

Their apprehension didn't exactly lessen when they were told that each of them were going to build a _kekkai_and that Kyo and Hisoka's job would be to try and break it. The circles were a necessary precaution, one which Takashi said he would explain later.

Things had been going smoothly; most of the students could barely even get a _kekkai_up, much less having Kyo and Hisoka playing villain. The class picked up a bit though when a few students actually got the spell right and standing in the middle of the pentagram, were covered with an incandescent silvery dome. Ron, Hermione and Ehren Tsang had been one of the few who managed to get their spells right, though it took Kyo and Hisoka less than 3 minutes to crack it.

Things went downhill when it was Bertie Mandrake's turn. He was still extremely nervous around Takashi and when it was his turn (he managed to get a _kekkai_up), everything went crazy. Kyo and Hisoka had placed themselves opposite the circle and had started their attacks. Within seconds, his shield cracked but didn't dissolve like the others. It exploded.

Startling Neville badly.

Who immediately shot off a defensive spell.

Which ricocheted off the wall, blasted Kyo who promptly flew across the room, smashed into Hisoka and by a (un)lucky spell from Amanda Fitzhugh, the both of them landed in a mini pond that had sprung into existence.

"I'm sorry!" Amanda had squeaked. "It was supposed to be feather pillows!"

Kyo, who had managed to become Hisoka's landing cushion, was currently lying in three inch deep water. And he was of the opinion that it was not pleasant. Not when he had a 16 year old who wasn't exactly feather-light lying on his stomach.

"I can't breathe," Kyo commented brightly.

With some mishaps (Kyo getting stepped on as they tried to help Hisoka up), they managed to get the drenched boys back on dry land. A wave of Remus's wand had the pond disappearing and another dried out both Kyo's and Hisoka's robes. But not before the both of them sneezed. At the same time.

"Crap," Hisoka summed up succinctly.

"I second that," Kyo sighed.

Deeming the practical part of the lesson over, the professors got the class back into some semblance of order and Remus thoughtfully conjured up some cushions for everyone to sit on as Takashi didn't want the circle and pentagram erased.

"Like I said," Takashi nodded sagely, "That was quite interesting and exactly what I hoped would happen." And he promptly ducked to avoid two flying cushions courtesy of Hisoka and Kyo. "As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted, that little misfortune was a good lesson. You've now learned a fundamental rule in omnyoujitsu. Can anyone guess?"

Silence from the class until Harry spoke up, hesitantly. "That it can be dangerous casting unfamiliar magic?"

"Yes and no." Takashi stood up and paced the outer circle's circumference until he came to the symbol of the northern point. "One of the fundamental rule in omnyoujitsu is _sakanagi. Basically, backlash. The circles and pentagram I've drawn are to deflect just that; backlash. So yes, it can be dangerous using unfamiliar magic, particularly one built on the principles that omnyoujitsu is based upon. Yes Miss Granger?"_

"How does this backlash manifest itself, professor?" she frowned. "Western magic doesn't really explore this concept as spells either work or they don't."

Takashi nodded. "True. But omnyoujitsu was developed through the theory of 'yin and yang'. The negative and positive aspects of life. For every white omnyoujitsu spell, there is its balance; a dark omnyoujitsu spell. Just as there is a dark and white omnyouji."

"Like Dark wizards?" Ehren offered, his Ravenclaw interest piqued, as well as his other housemates'.

"I was given to understand that here, the term 'Dark' means evil. That all practitioners of dark magic are evil," Takashi paused, waiting for confirmation and went on. "In omnyouji, dark and white is a matter of balance. How can we have white when there is no black? And vice versa? True, there are dark omnyouji that use their skills to kill and hurt people but it really is a matter self-perception. Dark omnyouji was created to give balance, a counterpoint to the white. In Japan, the leading clan of white omnyouji is the Sumeragi Clan while its counterpart is the Sakurazuka Clan. Each provides the other balance because without one, magic in Japan would run wild, uncontrolled."

He paused before his rapt students, feet planted between the circles. "And so we come to today's lesson; that for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. _Sakanagi_. Believe me, if I hadn't cast this protection," his foot tapped the chalked outline, "I'm afraid Mr. Mandrake would have had a very unpleasant experience. So instead of him receiving the backlash, Kyo and Hisoka did."

The class gasped as one, horrified.

"Y-y-you mean," Neville stammered, "You directed the backlash to _them?!"_

Takashi blinked. "And where else would I have? Both Kyo and Hisoka knew what they were doing. They're trained omnyouji. They would have a much better chance of handling the _sakanagithan any of you."_

"So are you saying that all this while you've been teaching them the magic without the proper protection?" Remus demanded. He had been listening quietly all this while, seeing it as another opportunity to learn but to hear Takashi so casually mention the dangers of omnyouji, he got angry. What right did Takashi have to expose the children like that?

Takashi sighed, rolling his eyes. "Professor, if _you _were a trained omnyouji yourself, you would have realised that the students were in no danger of _sakanagiat all. Because the spell I taught them was incomplete."_

He waited for a while for the explanation to sink in. Not surprisingly, it was Hermione who got it.

"So how did we manage to get our _kekkai__ up at all?" she gestured to herself and Ron. "If what you said is true, then nothing should have happened."_

Takashi grinned, sticking his hands into his pockets. "You're right. In fact, since this is the first time any of you has actually cast a more complex omnyoujitsu spell, it shouldn't have worked at all. Not only did I give you the incomplete phrasing, you were also lacking the trigger symbol. I know some of you have been practising on your own (despite my warning not to) but am I correct in guessing that none of you succeeded?"

Hermione was one of the few who blushed guiltily. So did Ron. Harry thought glumly to himself how he didn't even have the chance to. Not when Kyo and Hisoka both had expressly forbade him to try until Takashi gave the go-ahead.

"Because this circle and pentagram is not just for protection. It's been tuned to resonate with the person it protects within. When the caster emits enough power, the circle acts to complete the spell on its own," Takashi finished. "So as you can see, even if I _had given you the proper spell and chant, you wouldn't have been able to do a thing. Not without this circle."_

"Hey!" Malfoy actually spoke up and Harry turned around in surprise. Malfoy's pale face was flushed and indignant. "But you said that if we practiced hard enough, we could have mastered the spell already!"

"I lied," Takashi said cheerfully.

The class immediately flew into an uproar. Which was effectively cut off when Takashi said, quite pointedly, "Besides, how on earth am I going to explain to the Headmaster why some of his students managed to blow themselves up and Hogwarts with them as well?"

                                                            ***********

_                         Somewhere in Hogwarts. . .  the Headmaster's office to be exact._

                                                            ***********

_                     Well, where else would we have the meeting? Moaning Myrtle's toilet?_

                                                            ***********

"Severus," Dumbledore smiled merrily. Fawkes trilled a greeting as well though it was cruelly replied with a dark scowl. Fawkes gave the professor the phoenix equivalent of a 'yeah, whatever' as the nearly bald bird showed it's nearly naked posterior to the room. Dumbledore shook his head sorrowfully. "I fear that with each year, he greets his Burning Day with less and less enthusiasm. Chocolate Frog?"

Snape resisted the urge to take the confection and throw it back in that perpetually smiling face. "No," he snapped and with a swish and flare of his robes, sat himself down in a convenient armchair. Dumbledore did his own version of a 'yeah, whatever' by popping the refused chocolate into his own mouth. He shook out the card inside and immediately looked glum.

"Morgana again," he murmured. "I swear there's a conspiracy among the Chocolate Frogs to stop me from ever completing my collection. Do you know that this is my 556th Morgana card?"

"Headmaster," Snape sighed gustily. "I did not abandon an afternoon of marking wasted bits of parchments to listen to your conspiracy theories. You wanted to talk about the latest developments so please!"

"All in good time Severus," Dumbledore waved merrily, Morgana frowning from within her card. "Phineas?"

A portrait stirred, its occupant opening a baleful eye that showed not a hint of sleepiness. "What?"

Dumbledore ignored the rudeness with the years of practice and tolerance. "Have you done what I asked you to?"

Phineas Nigellus sat up straighter, buffing the nails of his right hand casually. "Of course I have," he said nonchalantly.

They waited.

"And?" Dumbledore prompted patiently whereas Snape was so tempted to get his wand out and show that annoying portrait the true meaning of paint thinner.

Phineas sighed, clearly indicating what a chore it was talking with lesser beings. "Those. . .Asians," his pale lips curled into a sneer, "have not left their classes. The adults as well as the young ones."

Dumbledore nodded, satisfied. He was about to open his mouth, turning to Snape when Phineas casually interrupted him.

"Although," he went on as though the conversation hadn't finished, "I _did see something quite amusing late last night near that corridor off the Great Hall."_

"And what is that Phineas?" the Headmaster asked.

Phineas drew out the moment, drew it out so long that even Dumbledore's long beard twitched ominously. It was only when several of his neighbours began waving their wands at him did he finally speak up.

"Oh well," he sighed. "That young Asian. . . ."

"Which one?" Snape snarled. "There's two of them!"

Phineas sniffed. "I'm getting to that you impudent fool," he said arrogantly. "The black haired one."

"Shiozaki," Dumbledore clarified. "What was he doing there? Did you see anything suspicious?"

"If you count sleepwalking as suspicious, then yes."

"He was sleepwalking?"

"No, he was dancing the polka in a shepherdess frock. Yes, he was sleepwalking! What do I look like? Blind?" Phinea huffed crossly and retreated into his frame.

Knowing from experience that he wasn't going to get anything more from the portrait, Dumbledore leaned back in his seat, steepling his fingers under his chin and frowning deeply. "Interesting. The boy is prone to sleepwalking."

"Headmaster?"

"Nothing, Severus," he waved away the enquiry. "What have you to report?"

Severus sighed, knowing from experience as well that when the Headmaster deemed a subject close, nothing short of a rampaging chimera could make him talk. He fussed with his robes, more out of habit than any need to and delivered his findings. With the discovery of his identity as a spy within the Death Eaters, Severus Snape had been forced to relinquish that role and to fall back on the other skills that had made him an exceptional spy in the first place. Using contacts long established, both in the Muggle and magical world, Snape had just as effectively kept an eye on the Dark Lord's movement. That, and the bond he held with the Silas family, a respected pureblood lineage with faithful ties with the Snapes leading back into the thirteenth century, Snape had made sure that he was still a useful member of the Order of the Phoenix. Sebastian Silas, the last of that line, was an old childhood friend, one of the very few Severus kept in touch with. Sebastian had fallen into the jaws of the Death Eaters out of necessity; to save his family. 

That plan had backfired when the Dark Lord, during his first reign and in a fit of paranoia, had ordered his young wife executed for having known relations with a Muggle. The hatred had truly sprung into being then, within Sebastian's heart and upon learning Severus's defection, had promised his friend all the help he could give to topple the second reign of the Dark Lord.

"The Dark Lord is still recuperating from the Department of Mysteries fiasco," Snape said curtly. "He's having trouble filling up the ranks of his Death Eaters since Fudge is now aware of his return. The Aurors' increased activity forces him to lie low, though not idle."

"What do you mean, Severus?" the Headmaster frowned.

Snape hesitated, before plunging on with the news. "The Dark Lord has heard of our. . .visitors and Sebastian has assured me that he holds great interest in them. Especially when he hears how powerful they seem to be."

"And how did he hear that?"

Snape sighed, fixing the headmaster a baleful glare. "No need to play the innocent with me, Albus. We both know that some of the children here report more than their weekly complaints to their parents."

"Indeed." For a moment, Albus Dumbledore did look his three centuries of life and those years piling on top of one another weighed heavily on him. His shoulders became bowed, his face sunken. Until Fawkes, seeing his master's dejected mien, trilled softly.

"Thank you, Fawkes," Dumbledore smiled. "Can we trust this information Severus? That the Japanese are _not in collaboration with Voldemort?"_

Even Snape flinched with the Headmaster's casual use of that dreaded name. Mustering himself, Snape shook his head. "No, Albus. Sebastian was emphatic on this. The Dark Lord was furious in fact, that he did not hear of this sooner. With Malfoy apprehended, he has lost his most valuable source of information within the Ministry."

Tapping long, gnarled gingers together thoughtfully, Dumbledore blinked slowly, his eyes losing focus as he gazed faraway seeing something that only he could see. "So they are not Death Eaters," he mused.

"No, they're not," Snape agreed. "But we still have to ask ourselves one thing."

"And that is, where _do _their loyalties lie, if not with Voldemort?" Dumbledore got up from his chair, walking out from behind his desk to stand by the phoenix's perch. Stroking the last bits of brilliant plumage that still clung to the bird, Dumbledore fixed  troubled eyes upon his Potions professor. "Because if there is one thing I'm sure of Severus, is that they are not here for what their official missive states. My guts and my instincts tell me this. And they tell me something else."

Snape returned that troubled gaze with a wary one of his own. "And what is that Headmaster?" he ventured carefully.

"That they know more than what they're letting on. And that when we do find the truth, it will not be pleasant." He turned to the large, mullioned windows behind his desk that overlooked a part of the Forbidden Forest and the Quidditch pitch. As though it was an omen, a thestral flew out from the canopy of the forest, circling a few times before diving down into the trees. He could almost imagine the shrill scream the ill-omened horse must have sounded. 

"No," he murmured, still absently stroking Fawkes. "It won't be pleasant at all."

*****to be continued*****

**Shiozaki****: **As the wise Monty Python once said; lets look on the bright side of life. Coz life's a piece of s**t.


	14. Chapter 14:Crumbs

**Title: When Death Comes A' knocking**

**Author: Shiozaki**

**Plot Mistresses: Shiozaki, Shaynie, Literary Eagle, LibraryCat**

**Scene Master: Shiozaki & LibraryCat**

**                                                                      Chapter 14**

**                                                                        Crumbs**

Unexpectedly, it was Hisoka's delicate fingers that reached for him, and Hisoka's surprisingly strong frame that managed to lever him up off the hard floor. Harry shook his head, wincing as the motion sent shock waves careening through his ringing head. Whatever that thing had been, it had certainly hit hard.

"Harry, are you all right?" Kyo skidded to a stop in front of the English wizard, pale blue eyes going momentarily dark with worry. His hands were patting at the other boy, anxiously reassuring himself that no serious harm had been done. Not physically, anyway. The contact was vaguely annoying, and made the pounding in his head, if anything, even fiercer. Harry shrugged the hands away.

"Lay off, Kyo," he muttered. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not. You just had a _kekkai blow up in your face." The darker of the Japanese students rounded on his fair friend. "Hisoka," he demanded accusingly. "What did you do to Harry?"_

"Nothing, idiot." Concern robbed the blond's words of some of their customary sharpness. "I thought his _kekkai__ was strong enough so I used a stronger 'fuda. Apparently, I was incorrect." From another person, Harry might have thought that it was criticism of his technique, a derogatory comment on his intelligence. But time spent in Hisoka's company was getting Harry accustomed to the empath's ways. There really was genuine concern on his tone and he had honestly believed that Harry could handle the stronger magic. If anything, it made him feel slightly guilty that he wasn't up to expectations._

Frowning, Kyo turned back to Harry, who was well aware that he didn't look his best as he swayed on his feet. In fact, sitting down was sounding pretty nice right about then. His legs gave way and he dropped abruptly to more sprawl than sit on the stone floor. Kyo sank down to sit on his haunches in front of him, gently reaching out to turn Harry's face into the light from the windows. "I wish Watari was here. . ." the omnyouji murmured. "His eyes are unevenly dilated, Hisoka. And look -" The cool fingers lifted his bangs from his forehead. "There's a spot of blood on his scar again."

Harry had been about to knock the intrusive hand away from his face, but froze, his own hand arrested half way there. "What do you mean, _again?" he rasped. "When did you ever—"_

Kyo sighed, hands dangling on his knees. "Summer? Nightmare?" he reminded Harry gently. "Or vision I should say."

"Oh," Harry blinked stupidly and was startled when fingers snapped peremptorily an inch from his nose. He blinked, bringing the world back into sharper focus. 

"I think he's okay. Just expended a bit too much energy, is all." Hisoka's inflectionless voice none the less seemed relieved as he drew back his own fingers from in front of Harry's face. The slightly built Japanese turned away, taking in the chaos around them. "Of course, he may not be, once Professor Lupin sees the mess we've made of his classroom. None of us may."

Surprised, Harry shifted his gaze from Kyo's anxious features, to the chamber beyond. Oh. . .dear. Hisoka was right; Moony _was_ going to be less than happy. The blast had shattered every diamond-shaped pane of the mullioned windows, in places severing the lead caning between the pieces of glass. Every scrap of paper, every loose bit of detritus, had been driven outward from the spell's epicenter and plastered against the base of the walls, the sides of the desks. In fact, Harry glanced down at the floor between his shaking legs, the center of the room was so clean that a house-elf would be envious.

"Eh," Kyo sighed. "Forget Lupin. _Takashi _is going to kill me if he thinks we're letting Harry get involved in magic out of his depth. But still. . ." Brow drawn down in concentration, Kyo stared at Harry. "It's almost like his powers acted to defend him without his conscious thought," he said musingly. The light touch brushed at the English boy's unruly black hair again. "You're a very powerful wizard Harry," he said softly.

He stilled under that gentle touch and it might have been a trick of the light, but his green eyes, usually so bright and vibrant, darkened momentarily. "Fat lot of good it did for Sirius," he muttered. Kyo froze.

Behind him, Hisoka sighed.

"Whatever. Let's get this cleaned up before anyone else comes to investigate, okay?" Suiting action to words, Hisoka knelt and began prying a sheet of paper loose from the leg of a chair.

It had been a forlorn hope that they would manage to clean up before anyone else arrived.

                                                           ***********

The headmaster sighed. Professor McGonagall shifted impatiently on the other side of his desk, steadfastly ignoring the guest chair that had sidled up behind her. "Albus -" she began in exasperation, halting as the older wizard raised a placating hand.

"Yes, yes, Minerva. I am well aware that young Mr. Potter seems to be going from bad to worse. When I assigned the care of our exchange students to your House, I was expecting that Harry and the others would keep them under a watchful eye, not turn around and join them in causing mischief." A twinkle appeared in his mild blue eyes. "I've already sent for Harry and the other boy, Shiozaki Kyo, and I promise that I _will_ speak to them. The destruction of a classroom in some after-hours tomfoolery will not be tolerated. It's just that I would feel a little better if I knew precisely what they had been up to."

Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "I suspect that they were doing the homework assigned by that Professor Matsumada. The question is whether or not he intended it as a trap for Harry. We simply don't know enough about this 'omnyoujitsu' of theirs to be sure."

"Hmm. . ." Dumbledore twirled a scarlet quill absently between his fingers and considered asking her to sit down. Having the irate Transfigurations instructor towering over his desk was nothing new, in and of itself, but she was going to wear a hole in the center of his forehead if she kept glaring at him that way. Unexpectedly, he chuckled.

 "Well, my dear, if it was intended as a trap, it seems to have been less than effective. Harry is unharmed, despite the wreckage they caused, and we now know a little more about the potential of one of their spells. Prior to this, all we had to go on was Remus's report of the demonstrations performed in the Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Although, I must say, his description was quite interesting. I rather liked the 'Happy New Year' charm." A soft tap on his office door interrupted McGonagall's outraged protest that 'cute' was hardly sufficient reason to take risks. She bit off any further comments that she might have made as the two boys entered.

The headmaster looked at her pointedly. "Professor, you are of course welcome to stay, but I assure you that I do not intend to take any actions without consulting you first." She choked back a protest, but took the hint.

"Certainly, sir. I do have a great deal of work waiting for me." Her parting scowl at the boys promised that the consequences would be dire if she should hear of any further trouble. Harry wilted a little as she strode angrily past them, while Kyo stared blankly back. Dumbledore waited patiently for the emphatic slam of his office door before turning back to the pair.

Side by side, there were certain similarities - both were of middling height, (though Shiozaki was definitely taller) with slim builds and dark hair – but that was the extent of it. Harry squirmed, shoulders hunching a little in anticipation of a scolding, while the other boy seemed completely oblivious. In fact, Shiozaki was looking around with polite interest, gaze finally resting on Fawkes. The bird preened a little, spreading his fan tail of golden feathers a bit for admiration. Dumbledore cleared his throat in warning before Shiozaki became completely absorbed in the phoenix, and the boy shrugged. 

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Shiozaki. . ." Dumbledore nodded to each of them in turn, schooling his features to an appropriate level of severity. "Are you aware that the destruction of Hogwart's classrooms is strictly prohibited?" Harry blanched while Shiozaki merely looked amused.

Harry spoke up, if a mumble could be considered as 'up.' "I'm sorry, sir. If we'd realized that it – the _kekkai_, I mean – was going to blow up like that, we'd have gone somewhere else." 

In spite of himself, Dumbledore smiled. He simply couldn't keep up the pretense of anger any longer. "That wouldn't have been necessary. As you know, all the classrooms are warded to keep such 'mishaps' from doing any serious damage. My concern is more that you, and your new friends, could have been injured. A classroom, after all, is expendable. You are not. I intend to ask Professor Lupin to go over any future assignments you may be given by Professor Matsumada before you begin working on them."

Shiozaki's eyes had been wandering all over the room, apparently deeming the conversation below his notice but at the mention of his husband's name, those pale blue eyes snapped back to his own. Shiozaki visibly relaxed further into his chair, fingers idly tapping a tune against the chintz arm. "Are you implying that Takashi was negligent in his duties?" he asked mildly.

"On the contrary," Dumbledore corrected him. "I feel that Professor Matsumada may have overestimated his class's abilities. If there had been any serious injuries—"

"Which there hasn't been any," Shiozaki interrupted him. "And if you had been talking to Professor Lupin, you would have realized that Taka, my _husband, took near paranoid precautions in ensuring that no harm would come to the children as he exposed them to omnyoujitsu."_

Dumbledore noted with interest that the older boy's reference to 'my husband' didn't seem to faze Harry in the slightest. Presumably, that meant that Shiozaki had been quite open about his involvement with the man? What was more interesting, actually, was that Harry, who normally spoke first and thought later, was trying to get his friend's attention. It was something like watching a garden gnome try to flag down the Hogwart's Express. Perhaps there was some good to this new friendship of Harry's after all, if it made him think more of consequences. It intrigued him further to note that Shiozaki, the more upset he was, actually got icier as he goes. A direct contrast to the Harry of old. The headmaster winced inwardly as he remembered the spectacular display of anger the boy had shown the last time in his office.

Yes, there was a definite positive influence the Japanese had on Harry. He had no doubt that if this had been the old Harry, the boy would be jumping up and down, indignant with the sly accusation he had tossed, precisely in the hopes of provoking his friend.

"You seem to have ignored my advice that your relationship with Matsumada was to be kept discreet," Dumbledore reprimanded gently. He leaned back in his own seat and stoked the fire further. "Surely such a simple matter could be adhered to, Mr. Shiozaki?"

"Ignored?" Shiozaki repeated in a low voice. Was it his imagination or did the temperature in the room dropped a few degrees? "Ignored, Headmaster? I have been doing anything but. You had said nothing about keeping it a complete secret. As Harry here is my friend, I see no reason to keep it a secret from him. Don't we agree, headmaster, that keeping secrets from friends will only hurt them in the end?" The wry twist of his lips was as much directed to himself, as well as the headmaster.

Dumbledore and Shiozaki stared deep into each other's eyes. Blue against blue, it was a contest of wills and the headmaster found himself reaching for his wand, hidden under the voluminous folds of his sleeves. A simple flick, not even needing the utterance of '_Legilimens', and he could have the boy's entire thoughts to be perused at leisure. He was stopped from doing so however, when Fawkes gave a sudden trill._

Just past his Burning Day, the phoenix was a heavenly creature to behold. Not even the hardest of hearts, save those who have turn themselves completely to darkness, could ever resist the call of a phoenix. Turning in his seat in surprise, Dumbledore was the first to break off the impromptu staring match and he watched in poorly hidden bewilderment as Fawkes flew off his perch, clearly intending to fly to Shiozaki. 

Before the phoenix could even alight on the back of his chair, Shiozaki jerked himself away from the bird abruptly. His face was pale, eyes wide. "Don't," he said sharply. With a sad trill, Fawkes went back to his perch. One golden eye was kept on the Japanese though and it seemed to the headmaster, that his phoenix was sad.

It was then that he became aware of a whispering voice, low and urgent. 

"Kyo, please."

Harry was pleading gently with his friend, a hand on the older boy's arm. Shiozaki looked down, apparently surprised as if he had just noticed Harry trying to get his attention. With a visible effort, Shiozaki got himself under control and turned blank eyes upon the headmaster. Seeing those eyes, Dumbledore knew that even with Legilimency, he would have been hard-pressed to find anything.

"Forgive my rudeness, Headmaster," Shiozaki bowed low from the waist. "I have not been sleeping well and I'm afraid my temper suffers for it."

Dumbledore waved the apology away casually, even as his mind's wheels turned rapidly as he analyzed the new crumbs this latest insight offered into the Japanese. "I quite understand," he said smoothly. "Have you been to Madam Pomfrey? She could give you some sleeping draught if you're feeling under the weather."

This time, a genuine smile crossed the boy's face and Dumbledore was secretly astonished at how it transformed his face. Gone was the guarded look in his eyes as he smiled freely. His whole face lit up with some amusement that only he was privy to. But Harry appeared relieved by it anyway and for the first time since entering the office, Harry was relaxed.

"Ah, I'm afraid Headmaster," Shiozaki chuckled, "That therein lies a problem. I absolutely hate going to hospitals or anything that reminds me of such. But thank you for your concern. It is nothing to worry about though. Harry here, as well as Hisoka, Hermione and Ron, have been taking good care of me."

"Very well then." Dumbledore nodded and held out a glass jar to them. "Lemon drops? No? Then thank you for coming and do try not to blow up anymore classrooms, hmm?"

He watched the two boys take their leave, Shiozaki once again bowing to him before departing. The Japanese was already making his way down the revolving staircase, Harry close behind when the headmaster called out.

"Harry, if I could have a moment?"

"Sir?" Harry turned, surprise on his face.

"How are you doing Harry? Are you handling everything well?" Dumbledore folded his hands on top of his table, peering concernedly over the rims of his gold spectacles.

Harry shifted nervously from foot to foot, uncomfortable with the concern that he was showing. It was a stark difference to another black haired boy that had stood in his office years ago. That black haired boy had been as confident and cocky as his own son wasn't. And Dumbledore's old heart ached for that. He had made so many mistakes with this young wizard's life. He was loathed to commit another one.

_Don't we agree, headmaster, that keeping secrets from friends will only hurt them in the end?_

"I'm doing alright, sir," Harry ventured a shy smile. He peered up from beneath untamed bangs. "Was there anything in particular you wanted to know?"

Dumbledore smiled back. "Quidditch is starting soon, isn't it?"

Harry nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, sir. In fact, Gryffindor is having our first session at eleven."

"Very well then, I won't keep you any longer. Off you go."

Harry turned again for the door and again, he was stopped by the headmaster calling out.

"Oh, Harry?"

This time, the reluctance was clear on the young wizard's face and he wondered, the headmaster, just how could he have messed things up this badly, if Harry didn't even want to stay and talk to him properly anymore? How could he help the boy through the hard times he was sure to face?

"Harry. . ." he started. "Have you. . ." Harry was afforded the rare glimpse of him floundering for the right words. "Have you told Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley about the Prophecy?"

Like a deer in headlights, Harry stilled, his hand on the doorknob tightening till the knuckles were white. "No, sir," he answered softly after an eternity of silence. "I haven't told them yet."

"Harry, I—"

"Excuse me sir," he was interrupted. "But I better be going now if I don't want to be late for the first Quidditch practice."

Dumbledore lowered his pleading hand back to the table, his shoulders stooped with defeat. "Yes, of course. Thank you for your time, Harry."

With a nod and a quick flare of his robes, Harry disappeared quickly down the stairs. The door drifted gently shut in his wake.

_Am I too late?_

"Have I erred, Severus, Remus?"

The soft tap of boot heels told him that the Potions master had stepped out of concealment. Another tread, falling even more softly than Snape's followed close. The two professors seated themselves down in chintz armchairs facing the headmaster across his mahogany table.

"Expel them," Snape answered him curtly. He wasted no times with preambles and went straight to the point. "We can't afford the security risk. Expel them and be done with it."

Dumbledore's smiled turned wistful. Snape had misunderstood his question but he did not correct the man. "Direct as aways." he said ruefully. "However, I do not have the luxury of turning them away when the Ministry has been so blunt in their insistence that they stay. I must choose my battles carefully."

"Why? They're strangers. They have no place in any of our _battles_." Snape's swift reply, rendered in his usual low and unpleasant tone told the headmaster that the man was uneasy. The Japanese delegation were unknown quantities, and he did not like unknowns in their plans any more than he did in a potion's recipe. 

"True. Except that I have a. . .feeling, for lack of a better word, whenever I look at them. There is more to this than meets the eye. That is why I would prefer that we keep them here, where we can keep an eye on them. Do you agree with me, Remus?"

The werewolf shifted uneasily in his chair, amber eyes meeting the headmaster's light blue unwillingly. "Severus is right to suggest what he did. There's just too many suspicions concerning them. The obvious power they're hiding, how easily they managed to befriend Harry and the others, the way they seem to hint at something more and. . ." Lupin sighed.

"And yet?" Dumbledore prompted gently.

Lupin sighed again. "And yet, I think they should be given the chance to prove themselves."

"A fool's risk," the Potions master snapped irritably. "Dare we be lenient with them, using up meager resources when it could be applied elsewhere?"

"We're caught between a rock and a hard place, gentlemen," Dumbledore admitted. "We would let them go, if the Ministry is not so insistent upon their continued presence. But do we dare to do so even if we could, risking their unsupervised presence among us?"

"We might be risking everything," Snape cut in. "The Dark Lord continues his interest in them, especially since the last demonstration that Matsumada did."

"The spell completion circle?" the headmaster clarified.

Snape nodded. "Exactly. While the writing and language differs, it is still an example of stored, active magic. For him to be able to craft one with only a piece of chalk is something to be cautious of, especially when he has freely admitted to Lupin here that the other one, Tsuzuki, is a far better omnyouji than him."

Snape leaned forwards, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled together as he propped his chin on them. "Then, there is the matter of their. . . .taint."

"Taint, Severus?" Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.

"Do not play the innocent, Albus," Snape growled. "You can feel it as well as I do. They carry darkness within and who knows when—"

"They are not Dark creatures," he was interrupted gently.

Both the headmaster and Snape turned to Lupin who regarded them with serious eyes. "I know what you're talking about Severus, but rather than calling it a 'taint', I sense that it is something else." He hesitated.

"And what is that, pray tell?" Snape drawled.

Flushing slightly, Remus went on, though his tone was firmer, his back straighter. "As a Dark creature myself," here, he smiled bitterly, "I can sense those who carry such a curse as well. Vampires, hags, other lycans, and they are not part of that."

"But who knows what sort of demons these Eastern wizards have come up with? They themselves admitted that their home is a gateway to other worlds."

"It is not a taint," Lupin repeated. "Rather, a burden."

Seeing that the two of them would continue their taint vs. burden debate, Dumbledore held up a placating hand. "Enough for now. We will discuss further on this when we have more conclusive evidence. For now. . .Remus," Dumbledore fixed worried blue eyes on the professor. "Has Harry been to see you?"

Startled, Lupin nodded. "Yes, professor. We've had a few talks, mostly about. . .Sirius," he swallowed painfully. "He seems to be doing fine."

"Has he mentioned anything about his visions? Any pain in his scar?"

Lupin shook his head. "No, sir. He hasn't. Surely. . ." he eyed the headmaster warily. "Surely he would have mentioned it to us if it did."

"Unless he has another confidante," Dumbledore sighed. "Harry has changed. Have you noticed? He's quieter now, more prone to thinking first, action later."

"A vast improvement," Snape added in surly tones.

The headmaster ignored that to continue, "I had hoped that time spent with his relatives, especially his aunt, could help him overcome his grief, to close the emotional wounds. Unfortunately, I think all that I have managed to do is to force him to find that comfort in strangers."

"Harry has never been wrong in the people he trusted," Lupin interjected softly.

"Except for a certain impostor."

"A mistake I fear we all committed, Severus," Dumbledore sighed. "Still, what's done is done. I would have liked for Harry to continue his Occlumency lessons with you Severus," Snape made an inarticulate sound of protest, "but Voldemort has seemed to abandon that venue of attack for now."

Snape's thin lips curled into a sneer. "The dog has been burnt once and is wary of the fire now."

"Truly. Still, I worry. But I refuse to force Harry into something he does not wish. But Severus, I beg you, should he come to you, asking for help, do not turn him away," Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard alive, save for the Dark Lord, pleaded with the professor.

Uncomfortable under the pleading gaze of a man he had somewhat regarded fondly as a father figure, Snape nodded curtly; a sharp, decisive motion. "I'm hardly an ogre, to refuse those who need my help."

"Excellent, Severus!" Dumbledore smiled happily, ignoring the added comment, muttered darkly, "Even if he _is _Potter's son."

"Now, on to other matters. Remus, have you heard from the other werewolves?"

                                                                 ************

It was with more than a little relief that the unnatural cold had snapped just a day before Gryffindor's first tryouts and practice session for the season. The snow had melted fully the day before, revealing the grass and hard ground beneath. But even if the cold front had broken, it did not mean that autumn had left as well. The wind was still bitingly cold; typical Scottish weather and everyone who had turned up for the tryouts were wearing thick gloves and scarves.

Harry looked around, noting with interest that a lot of the younger years had turned out this time. He recognized a few, mostly classmates of Ginny or Colin. He was already mentally reviewing their physical traits; who had the better build for Chasers for instance, and one second year who looked like she would be a good Seeker even. He had just moved on to the Beaters when his shoulder was tapped.

He turned and smiled when he saw that it was Ginny. "Hey, you're here." And immediately kicked his mental behind for that obviously intelligent opening gambit.

Ginny didn't seem to mind though. Her own smile was wide as well as she casually slung her Cleansweep seven over her shoulder. "Wouldn't miss it for the world," she answered cheerfully.

"Ginny, you mentioned last season that you wanted to try out for the position of Chaser."

"Yup." The smaller Weasley girl nodded emphatically. "Now that you're back as Seeker, I think I'd like to switch to a new position." She grinned up at her brother's best friend. "Of course, I could try for _your slot on the team. Especially since it looks like you're going to have a lot of new duties."_

"You'd try what? Not a chance, Ginny. The Seeker spot's mine. Hey, what do you mean, new duties?" 

"Didn't you hear? You got voted team Captain." She gave him a sly look, silently counting _one, two, three. . .before her words sank in, and he goggled in surprise._

"I _what?!" Startled, Harry dropped his broom in favor of grabbing her shoulders. His green eyes lit with excitement. "Tell me you're leading me on and I'll throttle you!" he exclaimed._

"Oops. I guess I wasn't supposed to tell you, but yes, Professor McGonagall is going to make it official in a bit when she gets here." If anything, Ginny's grin grew broader. 

Unable to contain himself, Harry let out a whoop, and punched the air with a fist. "Oh, super! I can't wait to tell Ron! Oh, wait, he probably already knows, doesn't he?"

Ginny laughed delightedly. "Yes, the big git knows. He's the one who seconded it when Angelina recommended you back at graduation. She intends to come back and clean your clock if you mess up _her_ team, you know."

Harry felt as if his own smile couldn't become any broader. To think, the previous Captain, Angelina Johnson, had put his name in for the Captaincy. It boggled the mind. It was a huge honor, and an even bigger responsibility. His grin faded. "I'll try to make everyone proud, Ginny." he said earnestly.

She patted his arm reassuringly. "I know you will, Harry. We have every confidence in you. You're a superb player, and you have a fine head for game strategy. With you leading us, I know we'll take the Cup this year."

"All right, everyone, To your brooms, please!" Professor McGonagall's shout interrupted their excited speculations. The tall, spare figure of their House Mistress came striding toward them, her winter-weight wool cloak billowing in a black cloud behind her. "We have a great deal to cover today, what with tryouts for several vacant positions. I want everyone to give me twenty figure eights as a warm up." A good natured groan greeted her words from the assembled Gryffindors. After a moment of milling around, everyone lined up, straddling a broom, and prepared to kick off. Ginny ended up in line just ahead of Harry, and stuck her tongue out at him good-naturedly when he complained. 

"Eat my dust, Potter."

"In your dreams, Weasley!" 

                                                                ************

"Er. . .Hermione? What are you doing here?"

Hermione flipped her hair back, giving her best friend the evil eye. "Why?" she demanded. "Can't I attend this class?"

Harry floundered, waving around vaguely. "Well, sure. But I thought you dropped Care of Magical Creatures?" he asked, bewildered. Beside him, Ron was making confused faces as well.

Hermione sniffed delicately. "That was before I realized what I was missing out on. To think you've already been learning for a month about eastern magical creatures! It took me that long to convince Professor MacGonagall to let me transfer! I have so much to catch up on!"

"Er, is that the reason for your bag?" 

Her bag, resembled nothing so much as a bag, rather, a veritable walking library. Stuffed to the brim and then some with heavy books, Hermione had resorted to plain magic to make sure everything stayed inside and even then, she had to resort to a Featherlight charm. Otherwise, she'd be walking backwards with the load.

"Of course!" Hermione answered in scandalized tones. "Whatever else for? Ooh! Look! There's Professor Tsuzuki! Excuse me, I have to let him know about my transfer and whether I can do any extra credit work to catch up!"

She left behind in her wake, two, rather gob smacked best friends. 

"That's Hermione for you alright," Ron said vaguely. "Never lets anything get in the way of her education."

"Yeah. Right." Harry turned to Kyo and Hisoka, both who had wisely stayed out of the conversation. Kyo was leaning against a tree, arms folded and looking sleepy. The class today had been moved to the fringes of the Forbidden Forest and the shadows, combined with the brief sun that was making a guest appearance had effectively lulled the blue eyed boy into a light slumber. Hisoka was by his side, eyeing Hermione who was talking avidly with Tsuzuki with a wary eye. Tsuzuki was looking confused by the second as he tried to keep up with the girl's excited chatter.

"Kyo, Hisoka?" Harry called. Hisoka grunted, not tearing his eyes away from Tsuzuki and Hermione so Kyo roused himself, stretching his arms high up and yawning widely.

"Sorry," he yawned again. "What's up?"

"Do you know what creature we're learning about today?" Harry asked curiously. He took up a spot beside Kyo and the older boy swung an arm over his shoulder, leaning his weight against him. Harry settled into the warm hug contentedly. Kyo was a very touchy-feely sort of person, Harry had noticed a long time ago, but his physical affection seemed limited to a few; namely Takashi, Hisoka, Tsuzuki and himself. He had noticed as well that Kyo refrained from anything but a polite touch even when it came to Hermione or Ron. Much less with their other classmates. He wondered about that.

"I think we're covering demons today," Kyo mumbled. He had rested his chin on top of Harry's messy black hair, from what Harry could feel, and was waving in Tsuzuki's general direction. "Kitsune."

"Demon?" Ron piped up nervously. He too had been keeping watch on Hermione and Tsuzuki but for different reasons, Harry was willing to bet. "Isn't that kinda. . .dangerous?"

"It's not Helldemons," Kyo said, amused. "You remember what Tsuzuki said about the different demons right?"

Ron screwed up his face, searching back for that particular lesson. "Er. . .yeah!" he exclaimed, face brightening. "There's helldemons; spirits that are entirely malovelent and then there's demons, or known as spirits, from worlds that exist alongside ours. These spirits or demons were worshipped as demigods in the old days and have been known to grant favours to humans."

"Ten points to Gryffindor," Kyo grinned lazily. "Stop wiggling around Harry," he complained.

"Your chin's too pointy," Harry grumbled. Kyo obligingly removed his chin, though not before whining that Harry was being mean.

"What's Professor Matsumada doing here?" Harry asked, surprised. He was the first to note the black robes favoured by Takashi, and the familiar long-legged stride. That, as well as the russet hair that gleamed in the weak sun was a dead giveaway.

"Eh?" Kyo squinted, peering into the distance. "You're right."

They waited for Takashi to come closer and sure enough, he approached their group, giving everyone a bright smile and even ruffled up Harry's already messy hair affectionately. "Why does everyone _do _that?" Harry complained good-naturedly. His effort to pat down his hair was laughingly pushed aside by Kyo.

"Now that, is a wasted effort. Professor?" Kyo turned to Takashi. "What are you doing here?"

Takashi grinned back, hands stuffed in the pockets of his trousers. "Tsuzuki told me that he's getting a kitsune today. I didn't have a class so I thought I'd drop by and join the fun."

There was that weird Japanese-sounding word again. Pricking up his ears, Harry tugged Kyo's sleeve curiously. "What's a kitsune?" he asked, fumbling a little over the unfamiliar word.

"Fox," Takashi explained. 

"We're learning about foxes?" Ron asked, looking mildly disgusted. "What's so demonlike about them?"

"Ah, but we're not studying normal foxes, Mr. Weasley," Tsuzuki announced cheerfully. He waved his arms, indicating for everyone to come close. Hagrid was by his side, beaming around at everyone and Harry noted with an inward sigh that the half-giant had a fresh bruise on his face, courtesy, no doubt, of Gawrp. Hermione had finally satisfied her curiosity and had joined Harry and the others near the front.

"What we have today is what commonly known in Japan as fox-spirit. Unlike normal foxes, these have some special powers." He gestured to a large rock beside him, warm now from the sun and everyone looked at it expectantly. One thing the Hogwarts' students had learned was that Professor Tsuzuki's class was never boring.

Sure enough, an animal jumped nimbly on top of the rock and everyone gasped in awe and amazement.

The fox was large, huge, golden eyes blinking slowly as the animal sat itself regally on its haunches. Its fur was a deep, rich reddish brown, lightening to a brilliant white tip at its tail. The animal was delicately proportioned despite its size, a graceful creature. But what really caught everyone's attention was that there was _nine of its white tipped tail. Brilliantly white, sharp canine teeth were revealed as the fox grinned._

"Cat got your tongue?"

The whole class gaped dumbly in astonishment. 

"It—it talked!" A Ravenclaw squeaked.

"Congratulations, you _do have a tongue in there somewhere."_

"Really, Iku-san" Tsuzuki chided the fox gently, "Be nice."

Iku, the she-fox, smiled wider. "But I am nice," she protested mildly. "Do you see me scaring the pants of these kits?"

Tsuzuki sighed, smiling fondly and conceding her point. "Class, may I present to you a good friend of mine, Iku-san? She is what normally known as a fox-spirit, the strongest of her kind as she is a nine-tailed fox. The lesser the number of tails they have, the less power they possess."

Class was going splendidly, by Tsuzuki's standards, as there have yet to be any fires, buildings exploding or other uncountable property damage. Confident enough that the rest of the class was occupied, Hisoka drifted to the back of the crowd, joining Kyo who was back to leaning against the same tree trunk. Takashi was surrounded by the other students, patiently answering their questions and Kyo watched him with a fond smile.

"How are you doing?" Hisoka murmured.

Kyo shrugged, keeping his eyes on Takashi. "Not bad."

He was obviously not in a talkative mood so Hisoka subsided into silence as well. The two of them watched silently as the class crowded around Iku, the fox-spirit enduring their inquisitive touches and questions as patiently as she could. She was showing off her powers, transforming herself into the many illusions she mastered. Students laughed or gasped in surprise when they found themselves staring into the faces of identical twins. For Parvati and Padma, the two of them entertained a few minutes of being triplets.

"Wow, that was so cool!" Harry, who had parted from the crowd to join Kyo and Hisoka enthused. Iku had amused herself by changing into Harry's doppelganger and mimicking everything Harry said or did. He was still flushed from some smart comments Iku had made and the twinkle in his eyes made the green all the more vibrant. It was with a sinking heart that Hisoka noticed Luna Lovegood, the weird Ravenclaw trailing dreamily behind.

"Yes," she echoed, her wide, protuberant eyes fixed on Hisoka. "What a marvelous class, isn't it, Hisoka? Wasn't it lucky of me to be able to transfer as Hermione did? Think of the articles that my dad can put in the Quibbler. . . ."

Hisoka twitched. 

Kyo smiled crookedly. "You should check out her other illusions. She c—what was that?"

In a fast move that had Harry blinking stupidly in astonishment, Kyo had roughly spun around, facing the forest and shielding him behind his back. Hisoka had moved as well and the two of them stood protectively over both Harry and Luna. Apparently, even put off by the girl did not stop Hisoka from being the gentleman, Harry noted rather idly.

"What's wrong?" Harry demanded. "We're just at the fringes, there shouldn't be anything attacking us." He peered over Kyo's shoulder, standing on tip toes to do so and was startled when he immediately spotted a pair of glowing eyes deep in the darkness of the shadows. "What the—"

"Takashi! Tsuzuki!" Kyo shouted.

The class fell silent. With a soft hiss, Iku leapt off the rock and disappeared. Tsuzuki and Takashi quickly made their way over, Hagrid ordering the class to gather together just in case.

"What is it, Hisoka?" Tsuzuki asked worriedly. Hisoka merely pointed into the Forest.

The first pair of glowing eyes had been joined by another, and another until it seemed that the entire shadows were alive with those eyes. And they came closer, into the sunlight. Harry found himself being herded back gently, Luna stumbling as well and they were joined by Hermione and Ron, both who had their wands out, their faces grim. Hagrid stood by them as well, his crossbow ready.

They heard soft footfalls on the Forest floor, joined by a multitude of others as the beings neared the edge of the Forest. When the first rays of sunlight first fell on the creatures, the Japanese eyes widen, mouth falling open in surprise. Hagrid immediately lowered his crossbow, sighing in relief.

"Eh! It's them thestrals!" he boomed heartily. "No need to worry lads," he clapped a heavy hand on Hisoka's shoulder and Hisoka squeaked as his knees buckled. "They're a friendly lot. Hogwarts's own herd."

The thestrals moved slowly towards them but even with Hagrid's assurances, the Japanese found themselves falling back, giving way for the strange creatures. The thestrals _looked like horses and that's where the similarities end. They were strangely bony, coats a dark grayish black that blended well with the shadows. The eyes were especially unnerving; a deep black with no pupils and as they walked, huge dragonlike wings were flapped open occasionally, sweeping a brief breeze over them._

"What, in Enma's name, is _that?_" Kyo spluttered.

Harry, now at last able to get away from Kyo's protective shelter, answered him quietly. "They're called thestrals. Carnivore horses. Only people who have seen death can see thestrals."

Kyo shot him a startled look.

Harry found his sleeve tugged impatiently and he turned quizzically to Ron. "Hey, Harry," Ron hissed. "It really is the thestrals?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Can't you see them?"

Ron shrugged uncomfortably, exchanging looks with Hermione. "No," he answered stiffly. "Guess we didn't really see much of the fight then eh?"

Harry managed to smile then; a stiff sort of smile. "Lucky you."

The class had backed away even more when they heard the word thestral, Hagrid explaining to the Japanese that wizards thought them a bad omen.

"Dunno why though," Hagrid chuckled. "They're nice enough to yeh, tho' I can't really say why they came out today. Don't like ter come unless I call usually."

"I think I know why," Takashi answered him rather warily.

The thestrals, it seemed, had taken a liking to the Japanese. There were five of the spectral horses and each, with Tsuzuki getting two, had crowded close around each of the Japanese, totally ignoring Hagrid and the rest of the class. With a low whicker, the thestral nuzzled the Japanese, almost like dogs looking for some petting.

Hisoka was patting his rather amorous thestral nervously, eyeing it as though he expected his hand to be bitten off at once. That didn't happen. Rather, the thestral seemed to enjoy it, butting his hand playfully when he faltered. "Nice horsie."

Kyo was enduring his with a pained smile. "Well. This is. . .interesting."

Harry wasn't sure what to make of it, neither did everyone else who could see the thestrals. Neville looked as though he was going to faint but Hermione, who apparently could not see one, was frowning heavily.

"So all of you can see them?" she asked.

Hisoka and the others exchanged looks. Tsuzuki answered her. "Yes. . ."

"Fascinating," was all she murmured as she dropped her bag on the ground and began rummaging through it frantically. "Excuse me."

Harry noticed that Kyo was frowning as well, though it was directed to the thestral he was petting. The blue eyed boy gestured to Tsuzuki, trying to catch his attention. "Hey, Tsuzuki. Do they remind you of something?"

The guest professor nodded reluctantly. Still patting his thestral somewhat uncomfortably, he answered, "Yeah. They remind me of the Kuroi Uma."

Kuroi Uma? Harry frowned and out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Hermione taking out a quill and quickly writing the strange name down. He decided that there was another faster way of getting information.

"What's that?" Harry asked curiously. 

Kyo coughed, looking at anywhere but him and rubbing the thestral's ears far more vigorously than before. "Ah! Knowledge!" he said brightly. "What a wonderful thing it is. . ."

"You're stalling," Harry informed him bluntly.

"Quite right."

He gave Kyo a dirty look but his friend appeared quite unrepentant. Sensing he wasn't going to get anymore, Harry shrugged, deciding that Tsuzuki would be far easier to pry. Before he could though, Kyo's thestral, in fact, all of the thestrals suddenly gave a shrill neigh. Eyes rolling wildly, they jerked out of the Japanese grasp. Expecting maddened creatures, Kyo was quickly pushing at Harry, trying to get him away but Harry stubbornly dug his feet in and instead, pointed back in to the Forest.

"Something's scaring the thestrals," he said urgently and sure enough, there _was something. They could distinctly hear the sounds of something large and heavy crashing through the underbrush. Birds were panicking, flying out from the tops of the trees in raucous flocks. Everyone stood still, unsure what to do. The thestrals had ceased their screaming and instead, were facing the Forest head on as though, Harry realized with a start, as though they were trying to protect their herd._

Or rather, he thought to himself, trying to protect the Japanese.

Kyo's grip on his hand was painfully tight. His friend was eyeing the dark Forest warily as whatever it was that was disturbing the denizens of the Forest approached closer and closer. Hisoka was peering intently into the trees, his brow furrowed in concentration. Looking closely, Harry could make out the vacant look on his face; Hisoka using his empathy?

With a sudden jerk, Hisoka spun around, already digging his heels into the grass and shouting at everyone; "Run!"

They didn't need to be told twice. Whatever it is that was coming through, it was huge. And huge plus the Forest does not make a good combination. Hagrid was dropping back, shouting for someone to get the Headmaster and the other professors. The other students were already in a headlong flight back to the castle, Harry and his friends bringing up the end. But they had barely gotten past Hagrid' hut when Harry and Ron, who was running side by side, were immediately tackled to ground by Kyo, his body protectively covering them and he shouted, "Shields! Now!"

_"On abokya beiroshanam!"___

_"Protego!"___

There were more than a few voices shouting out incantations but the result was more than satisfying. A silvery blue dome instantly covered them, Kyo scrambling to his feet quickly. Harry and Ron followed suit, head still woozy from the sudden fall. Looking around, they could see Hermione, Neville and Luna were with them, along with Hisoka, Tsuzuki and Takashi. Judging by the wands and ofudas out, the shield casters had been all of the Japanese, except for Kyo, as well as Hermione and Luna.

"What the hell happened?" Ron asked, getting his wand out as well and looking around nervously. He didn't even need anyone to answer him apparently as looking back the way they came, he could pretty much see why they were in such a panic. 

Grinning just a foot away from the shield, was a manticore.

*****to be continued*****


	15. Chapter 15:Baku take my dreams

**Title: When Death Comes A' knocking**

**Author: Shiozaki**

**Plot Mistresses: Shiozaki, Shaynie, Literary Eagle, LibraryCat**

**Spell Researchers: The wonderful people at my mailing list; the best reviewers in the world and some of them are fantastic fanfic authors in their own right.**

**Chapter Warning: **

**Scene Master: Shiozaki & LibraryCat**

**                                                                                                    Chapter 15**

                                                                                           Baku take my dreams 

_"Sweet flesh. . ."_

Kyo gaped, not sure whether he really believed his eyes. While it was true that the shield distorted their vision somewhat (the incandescence tends to get all wavy and mirage-like), he doubted that his vision was getting distorted _that _badly. So that means what he was seeing is true.

Dammit.

The monster was huge, towering over the thestrals who had flown high into the air, screaming shrilly. It had the body of a lion with the thick, goldish red fur looking incongruously soft to the touch. Large, membranous wings stretching at least 6 feet out on either side of it caught the light, showing the delicate traceries of veins and sinews. Its tail, viciously barbed and spiked, lashed the ground almost lazily, like a cat eyeing a potential meal. But it was the face that really got to Kyo. The face was humanlike with humanlike features. Eyes, a large nose and mouth full of very sharp teeth and fangs. And it can talk.

"Manticore," was Hermione's awed whisper. "I read all about it in. . ."

"Hermione," Kyo cut her off impatiently. "What we're more concerned about is how the hell do we kill it?" He gestured to a spot somewhere behind the manticore. "Hagrid's down and we need to get him someplace safe, before the professors can rescue us."

Hermione stared at him, Harry, Ron and Neville likewise as well. "Kill it?" she squeaked. "You're going to fight that thing?"

"We can't just leave Hagrid out there! And the shield can't hold forever." As if to prove his point, the manticore lifted a paw and batted the shield almost playfully. The shield shimmered, but held on.

"Come out, come out," the manticore sang softly. Its voice was grotesque; low and vibrant with a husky timbre that brought to mind of chops licked hungrily in anticipation. Which probably wasn't too far off the mark in this case. It batted the shield again.

"How do we kill it?" Hisoka repeated the question.

"You can't," Harry answered him grimly. His face was pale, eyes wide. A hand clutched his wand in a fierce grip as he swallowed. "A manticore is almost immune to magic. Spells would just bounce back."

Hisoka's eyes narrowed defiantly. "Then I'm pretty sure that a sword wouldn't. Takashi?"

The professor nodded, eyes glinting. "Excellent idea. Hermione, Professor McGonagall tells me that you're the best student in Transfigurations. Can you transfigure us four swords? Just simple ones would do. Straight, please if you could."

The Hogwarts students stared at the Japanese as though they had announced that they were going to do the conga line with the manticore. Ron was the first to recover as he spluttered, "Are you _crazy?!"_

"Hermione."

"You can't do this!" Neville protested, though he looked as though he wished he could keep his mouth shut. "It's suicide!"

Luna just stared off into space dreamily. "Death surrounds us," she murmured.

Harry merely looked to Takashi and when Takashi kept silent, Harry dropped his eyes. Hermione, ever the practical one, knew from the start that to argue would be useless and a waste of time. Already the manticore was getting impatient, striking the shield again and again, roaring. Scrounging around, she managed to locate four rough twigs. Concentrating deeply, she frowned, waving her wand and muttering under her breath. The transfigurations was slow; they could see the twigs morphing into four, straight and slender swords.

It wasn't exactly a katana but it would do, Kyo decided, hefting the blade and testing its balance. The important thing was that it was _sharp._

"Harry, hold on to the ofudas. If the shield cracks, try to cast another one. If that doesn't work, then run. Run and don't look back," Takashi instructed him softly. Harry took the ofudas, nodding silently.

"Be careful," Harry whispered.

"We will," Takashi smiled. "Ready?"

Tsuzuki, Hisoka and Kyo nodded. Each holding a blade ready, the four of them crouched by the very edge of the shield, away from the manticore who was eyeing them warily. With a shouted "Go!" from Takashi, they rolled out of the shield.

                                                                **********

Snape cursed, pushing anyone unfortunate in his way impatiently. His robes flared out behind him, like some monstrous wings propelling him along and looking at him, the scattered students and ghosts alike thought exactly that. His wand was brandished in full view and with his hair streaming back in his quick passage through the halls, he was quite a sight to behold; the fearsome Potions Master in battle mode. From the first years up to the seventh, they were gawking, having never seen their professor like this before.

But if that got their attention, then the figure following behind really took the cake. 

_Dumbledore was running as well._

That same fierce light shone in his eyes. Whereas in Snape, it seemed to mean bloody murder was going to happen to the sad unfortunate, in Dumbledore, it was the pure fierce light of an old warrior called to battle. The light might not be shining as bright as it did a hundred years ago, but it burned steadily, nevertheless. Despite his soft blue robes with little stars embroidered on the hems and matching hat, despite the long silver hair that flew like a banner, he cut an impressive figure.

The two of them cut a swathe through the milling students in the Entrance Hall, brought there by the commotion caused from Hagrid's sixth year Care of Magical Creatures class. It appeared that the professor had received a surprise guest. One that was currently toying with at least seven of their students, and three professors.

_"Everyone!" Dumbledore's magically amplified voice quieted the din. _"To your dorms! Prefects, you're in charge. All professors to the Forest!"__

_Please, it would have surprised most people to know that Snape was praying, but pray he did. _Please, let us not be too late.__

The great doors burst open even without contact, the castle understanding the Headmaster's needs. With no obstacles in their way; the students quickly clearing a path and the other professors following closely behind, Snape and Dumbledore were the first to reach the edge of the grounds that sloped down to Hagrid's hut. The sight that met their eyes caused to them to stumble to a halt; gasping harshly for breath and in utter surprise.

They could see their own Hogwarts students under the protection of a shield. One that upon immediate notice proved to be a magic not native to the islands. The glow was different, the feel was different, the _tang was different. It was Japanese magic. Omnyoujitsu._

But it wasn't that fact that stopped them, the other professors also colliding to a stop and mouth gaping open in astonishment.

"What the. . ."

"Do you see that?"

"Minerva! I don't believe it!"

The Japanese delegates were not ensconced in the protection of the shield they had obviously erected. They were on the back of four thestrals, one already lying dead on the ground, and the four of them were wielding swords.

And they were attacking the manticore.

The two guest professors, Tsuzuki and Matsumada, were acting as decoy; they could deduce that much. They were not doing that much direct damage; yelling and throwing out ofudas like confetti despite the magic having no effect on the monster. But the subsequent noise and explosion of magic thrown back was enough to confuse and enrage the manticore, sending it into frenzied fits as it tried to bash the annoying gnats. Their thestrals were doing damage as well; using their sharp teeth and vicious hooves to good effect.

It was the exchange students that were doing the more serious harm. Swords held in hands that was obviously not a stranger to such work, Shiozaki and Kurosaki worked well together, even on horseback and their blades gleamed a deadly light as sharp steel swung, sliced and cut manticore flesh like mere paper.

"Kyo!" Kurosaki shouted, startling the professors. "The tail is poisonous!"

Without a word, Shiozaki's next move had Professors Sinistra and Sprout shrieking in fear. With artless grace, he held his arms out by his side and fell back, right off his thestral and straight on to the manticore's back. A flip and he landed feet first on the monster's thrashing body. Swaying, he quickly rolled and a fast slice had the tail neatly cut off at the base. The manticore screamed in rage and pain and fell to the ground. Shiozaki fell as well but before he could hit the ground, his thestral flew under him and he grabbed the stallion's mane, managing to scramble on after a few tries.

Panting, the manticore eyed them with baleful yellow eyes, teeth bared in a silent snarl. _"Bitter flesh!" _the words were spitted out. With a powerful leap that belied its injured appearance, the manticore surged to its feet and headed, not for the Japanese who were waiting grimly, but for the five students watching the fight in silent fear under a suddenly flimsy looking shield.

It roared, a crazed sound made mad by pain and a two huge paws battered the shield in quick successive strokes. Tsuzuki shouted, "It's not going to hold!" And Snape watched in dry-mouthed fear as the shield cracked; sharp spiderweb lines and with another swipe, it burst into gleaming, ghostly shards.

_"Sweet, sweet flesh. Master promised," the manticore panted._

To Snape, that moment was forever frozen in time. Granger, eyes wide and for once in her life, not having a word to say. Longbottom, predictably scared witless. Weasley, ever the courageous, trying to shield Granger and Lovegood behind him.

But Potter.

Potter.

Was just staring up at the manticore.

Face void of emotion of any stripe save one.

Acceptance.

Unthinkably, that spurred Snape into a fury he never felt before when it concerned that whelp. Not even the rage he felt at the time his Pensieve was violated could compare to this. White haze clouded his vision and his wand snapped out in a move that put the Headmaster's duelist speed to shame.

_"Protego!" he screamed and the spell shot out like a bullet and just as a gaping maw descended on the Potter boy, a shimmering, silver-green shield sprung into existence. That salivating jaws crashed against it and the manticore stumbled back, dazed. Potter moved his head, ever so slowly and green eyes met black. The intensity he felt as their gaze connected dissolved the distance between them to nothing._

_You will not die before my eyes Potter, he vowed._

"Everyone!" Dumbledore shouted and it broke the staring match between them. Snape wrenched his gaze away and followed the Headmaster in his headlong rush down. "Quickly!"

It wasn't exactly a futile gesture but it did have the faintest smack of one. The Japanese were already handling the manticore admirably well. Spells were useless against such a monster, and to cause any sort of damage, the Japanese's was the most effective one. The professors couldn't even help in distracting the beast as they feared the spells might hit the wrong target. It was evident to everyone that the four had worked together as a team before. Their coordination was enviable and ultimately, it brought more questions to mind. Questions that could be answered later. They had students to save.

The students were quickly gathered into a safe huddle, Hagrid attended to by Vector and Flitwick, Potter bundled protectively between Dumbledore and McGonagall and Snape assigning himself as their flank guard. So he got to see the end of the manticore. A sight that he couldn't help but admire.

Tsuzuki and Matsumada had dropped all efforts of distraction and swung their swords with skill. They harried the monster's front; red lines erupting like magic across its face and jaws, further enraging and weakening the manticore. Drops of blood flew like rain and spattered the students and professors alike.

"Hisoka! He's yours!" Shiozaki shouted and again, imitated his earlier freefall move. He dropped onto the manticore's back but he didn't waste time with such trivial appendages. Sword held blade down with both hands, he plunged the steel into tough flesh, severing the spine. 

The manticore shrieked in pain.

And Kurosaki, flying his thestral high in the air above the monster, did an even crazier stunt than Shiozaki's. He was at least thirty feet high in the air above the manticore yet with aplomb, he got to his feet, _standing on the thestral's back. Blade upright and close to his side, Kurosaki straightened, swaying for a brief moment, and fell._

Snape caught himself from shouting out a levitation spell just in time. The boy's fall had a purpose, that much he could tell. Falling straight like an arrow, Kurosaki tucked himself into a flip and landed feet first on top of the manticore's head. Using his speed and inertia, he brought his sword out and blade pointed below at the same time he landed. The force was unbelievable. The steel sank like hot knife through butter straight into the manticore's brain.

The fighting ceased as the manticore's shriek died midway. Yellow eyes widened in surprisingly humanlike disbelief. The jaws fell open, gums stained red with blood and dripping saliva.

_"Bitter. . ."_

With a mighty crash, the manticore fell sideways. 

Kurosaki managed to fall clear of the dead monster and he rolled with the impact. Having timed his fall with the creature's, Kurosaki only had a few feet worth of height to clear. Shiozaki got away as well and he lay on the ground, panting. Tsuzuki and Matsumada brought their thestrals to the ground as well and they too slid off their steeds with slow, weary moves.

"Dear Merlin," Snape breathed. Never, in all his life, had he ever seen anyone fought a manticore as they did. Wizards had a different yet similar way of fighting. Magic was still used, but to affect the area surrounding the manticore, thus able to injure the creature physically. What the Japanese did was pure brutal fighting. The savagery of their moves, the coordination they had was stunning.

"Kyo!"

Snape spun around, startled. It turned out that Dumbledore and everyone else didn't even make it to the front doors. They too had been arrested in their flight, witnessing the last moments of the manticore. And like Snape, they were awed.

Except for Potter. The acceptance of death he saw earlier was gone. The boy now was positively frantic with worry, trying to get to his friend. Dumbledore held him firm, murmuring gentle words in his ear. Potter slumped against the Headmaster yet never took his eyes off of Shiozaki who was still on the ground. Tsuzuki, Matsumada and Kurosaki were likewise as well. Tsuzuki had at least been able to grab hold of his thestral's mane and had fallen more or less gracefully. Matsumada was a different matter, also lying prone on the ground and Kurosaki didn't look too good; face pale and sweating. 

Scowl firmly in place, Snape made to move to the nearest, that being Kurosaki, but he was brushed aside by Madam Pomfrey who had followed the professors.

"Are you hurt?" she asked briskly. "Can you tell me how many fingers am I holding up?"

"Two," was the irritated growl she got in answer. "And don't yell. You're giving me a migraine."

"_Well._"

Tsuzuki and Matsumada were being attended to by McGonagall and Sinistra respectively. That left the Shiozaki boy. Scowling even more fiercely, Snape strode briskly to where Shiozaki was trying to get to his feet. He managed to get himself halfway upright before he started swaying. Quickly catching the boy's upper arms, he supported the boy's weight easily.

"Please don't tell me you're getting into shock now, of all times," he sneered.

Pale blue eyes peered up at him from beneath black bangs and Snape was forcibly reminded how those blue eyes were _not _Dumbledore's. The color was a close hue, but the emotions they evoked were different.

Shiozaki laughed softly and immediately winced. He cradled his forehead in his palm, groaning. "_Ow. _Bad idea that."

"Did you hurt yourself then?" Snape asked briskly, starting to pat the boy down for injuries but stopped when the boy giggled again.

"That tickles," he laughed. "Okay. _Ow _again. No, I'm not hurt. It's just backlash from the magic the manticore repelled."

"Backlash?" Snape frowned then his face cleared. "Ah, yes. Lupin told us about it. _Sakanagi, _wasn't it called?"

"Yeah. I'm guessing everyone's having killer headaches right now," Shiozaki sighed. "Oh, look. I didn't know you had a twin professor."

Snape rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Shiozaki. You're going to the hospital wing."

"Whee. What fun."

"Sarcasm ill becomes you."

"Said pot to the kettle."

"Shut up, Shiozaki."

                                                                 ************

The four Japanese were declared to be fit as can be, albeit the headaches they were all suffering from. The only cure the matron could offer was a headache potion and they downed it gratefully. The Japanese had settled down on separate beds to endure the nurse's fussing gracefully (though Kurosaki's scowl could have positively blistered paint).

"Gentlemen," Dumbledore smiled though the twinkle in his eyes was gone. The other students involved, namely Potter, Granger, Lovegood, Longbottom and Weasley had been ushered back to their dorms earlier and it was only Snape, Dumbledore, Lupin and McGonagall together with the Japanese in the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey had retired to her office when the Headmaster had politely asked for some privacy with their heroes.

"Heroes?" Tsuzuki laughed. So far, he was the fastest to recover and was munching contentedly on lemon drops he had somehow managed to finagle from the Headmaster himself. "We only did what we had to. Surely you don't expect us to just stand there gaping like idiots."

"Yes, and for that, we are most grateful." The Headmaster paused. "Yet I can't help but notice that it seems as though the four of you have had familiriarity in dealing with these kinds of situations. You fought well together, something that can only be achieved through experience."

If he had expected denial, the Headmaster was to be disappointed. The Japanese merely exchanged glances and they shrugged affably.

"Yeah, we have experience in this sort of thing," Tsuzuki shrugged again.

"Too much experience if you ask me," Kurosaki muttered.

"You sound very blasé for someone so young yet has managed to kill a manticore," Dumbledore noted. "Even four grown wizards would never have dared approached it as you did."

"We're not wizards," Shiozaki piped up, sounding irritated. He was lying on his side, Matsumada standing by his bed and stroking his hair absently. "And don't talk so _loud_."

"Your head still hurts?" Matsumada asked, concerned.

"No. I'm acting like a dead fish for the fun of it," Shiozaki snapped.

Snape looked at the boy in astonishment, as did his colleagues and the Headmaster. While the Japanese had been keeping faithfully to the Headmaster's advice to keep their relationship a secret, the professors did notice a certain degree of affection in their interaction, and that was only because they had been looking for it. To hear the Shiozaki boy snapping like that was rather surprising, but not it seems, to his husband.

"But you're such a wonderful dead fish," Matsumada patted the black hair condescendingly. "You really had me fooled."

Shiozaki growled something rude, causing McGonagall to gasp, "Shiozaki! Manners!" and the boy promptly buried himself under the covers and gave his husband an affectionately rude finger.

"Don't mind him," Matsumada smiled. "Headaches make him cranky on the best of days."

"Be that as it may," Dumbledore coughed pointedly, "You have yet to answer my question."

Matsumada sighed. "As Kyo have said, we are not wizards. We're omnyouji," he said patiently. "How we practice magic in Japan is different. Most, if not all omnyouji are for hire in exorcisms, demon banishing, what have you. So yes, we do have experience. Even if we don't hire ourselves out, we'd do it anyway. It gets kind of annoying waking up next to something from the demon realm."

A lot of blinking occurred then.

"Well." The Headmaster seemed lost for words, a rare occurrence. "Well. I thank you again, for protecting our students so valiantly. I regret that I cannot grant House points as they technically do not belong to Gryffindor."

Kurosaki grunted. Shiozaki stayed buried under the covers.

"Very well then. Professors? As you seem to have recovered well, I think it best if we get on with the rest of the classes for the day."

That got Shiozaki to peer out from his blankets. A faint frown marred his forehead as he asked the Headmaster, "Can't Taka stay for a while with me?"

Dumbledore tutted. "I'm sorry, dear boy. But classes must go on and it's just a headache, is it not?"

Shiozaki dropped his eyes. "Yes, you're right," he said faintly. The professors were silent, moving away from their respective partners slowly. Dumbledore stayed back, making sure that the professors followed his not so subtle order. Kurosaki and Shiozaki too got off their beds and made to get out.

"Boys," Dumbledore halted them. "Feeling better already?"

"As you said Headmaster," Kurosaki answered him coolly. "It's just a headache."

                                                                     ************

Kyo woke up screaming.

He shot up straight in bed, eyes wild and sweat pouring down his face. For one brief, yet very real moment, he could hear a voice whispering in his ear, _"My beautiful Kyo," _and felt the ghostly touch of fingers on his body. He flinched, crouched among his rumpled covers and he cowered in fear. Trembling fingers clutched handfuls of black hair as he rocked back on forth, shaking so hard his teeth chattered.

It took time. Time before he remembered where he was. Safe. Safe in the Gryffindor Tower. Safe and not with Takashi.

 At the thought of his sensei, Kyo lifted his head, looking around warily. He wasn't disappointed. None of the other boys were awaken by his dreaming and not even Hisoka stirred. Kyo felt a wry smile tug at his lips. Would Hisoka figure out later that he had used the boy's empathy magic against him? Here in the dimness of his canopied bed, only Kyo saw, and only Kyo could see the wards that practically wallpapered every inch of his bedposts and hung in an almost festive manner underneath the canopy.

Wards of silence. Wards to deflect Hisoka's empathy. Wards to conceal all those other wards from prying eyes. The spells he used were potent ones that Takashi would never teach his Defense class because if a spell of this magnitude broke, it wouldn't be a simple headache its caster would suffer from. He was getting better and better at omnyoujitsu and all for the sake of keeping his nightmares a secret.

Calmer now, Kyo leaned back against the headboard and he drew his knees up against his chest, hugging himself tight. He rested his aching head on his knees.

Kyo whispered a prayer.

"Baku take my dreams. Baku take my dreams and eat them."

                                                                   ***********

"Hermione? What are you doing up so early?"

Hermione whirled around in surprise, the heavy book she held in her lap almost sliding off with the sudden motion. She gave a little cry of dismay. With the sheer size of the book, the weight alone would almost guarantee crushed toes.

But before the book could escape her fingers, a surer hand grasped hold of it and helped her settle it more firmly on the table instead.

"Thank you, Kyo," she said gratefully.

Kyo waved the thanks away with a "My fault for startling you like that." He set himself at the other end of the couch, long legs splayed out. Kyo shot her a small grin. "Studying?"

Hermione ducked her head, a light blush staining her cheeks as she fiddled with the tie of her dressing gown.

"Not really," she muttered and quickly gathered up the rest of the books scattered pell-mell across the tabletop. She stacked the books neatly, making sure that the heavy tome's title was well obscured. No, she wasn't studying per se. Unless you counted _Buddhism; Get Enlightened _as NEWT material. Frankly, she was getting a headache reading the book and now she had more questions than she did answers.

For instance, why do the four Japanese swear by the name of a deity who was a Lord of Death and Judgment?

_But they saved you, Harry, Ron, Luna and Neville from the manticore, her mind whispered. _They even risked their lives to save Hagrid.__

_Unless, she countered herself grimly, __it was all a masterful ploy to gain our trust. Which in Harry's case, she surmised mournfully, __is a foregone conclusion._

"Hermione? Hello? Earth to Hermione?"

"Oh! Sorry Kyo!" she blushed again. "I was just. . .thinking about something," she finished lamely.

Kyo nodded, agreeable with her non-answer as he stretched himself out lazily, all catlike grace. As he did so, the t-shirt he wore rode high up on his stomach and Hermione found herself the lucky recipient of an eyeful of nicely toned abdomen. 

She promptly gave herself the mental equivalent of a slap. _Bad girl! No! Remember Ron!_

"So Kyo," she said quickly, religiously keeping her eyes trained on a pair of blinking blue ones. "What are _you _doing up so early?" Now that she asked her question, it was then that she noticed Kyo's rather pale face and faint shadows under his eyes. She gave him the answer even as he opened his mouth to. "Nightmare?" she said sympathetically.

He shut his mouth with a snap and gave her a tight grin. "Yeah, nightmare," he echoed.

They sat in silence for a while after that, the crackle and pop of the low fire in the hearth filling up the empty space. Already the predawn grey was giving way to a clamshell pink before either of them stirred. It was Hermione who broke the silence first.

"I have nightmares as well," she confessed quietly to the fire.

"What about?" was the gentle enquiry.

She swallowed convulsively and wondered why she was saying it even as she did so. "Did Harry tell you about what happened early this year? In the Ministry of Magic?"

"The fight with Voldemort at the Department of Mysteries?" Kyo shifted slightly. "Yes."

"I was with him, in that fight." She sank deeper into the couch's embrace, pulling her dressing gown tight around her to ward off a sudden chill. "I don't really remember much about what happened. Everything was moving so fast. Curses were flying everywhere and I've never been so frightened in my life."

She stopped then but Kyo waited in silence.

"I didn't get to see what happened at the end. I was hit by a curse and pretty much don't remember anything else except waking up in the hospital wing." She paused again, wiping at her eyes surreptitiously. "But I remember that one moment just before I was hit. It felt like eternity stretching out before me and all I could think was, this is it. I'm going to die. And I felt. . . .I felt. . ." she faltered.

"Helpless?"

"Yes!" she burst out, twisting around to face Kyo who was regarding her solemnly. "And I hate feeling helpless! I hate it!"

They fell into silence again. Hermione sat with her head bowed, her hair curtaining her face as embarrassment sank in. This time, it was Kyo who spoke first.

"When I saw that the manticore was about to get to Harry," Kyo began softly, "I felt so angry and terrified. And helpless as well. I was too far away to help and I could only watch and pray that someone else would be in time."

"Someone was."

"Yes. Believe me, Hermione, I've been in that kind of situation so many times and each time, those feelings were the same, just waiting to pounce on me."

"So it never goes away?" Hermione asked in a small voice.

"Never."

Silence again.

"But you know what, Hermione?"

"What?"

Kyo's smile was softer this time. "You're here now. You're alive and well. So is Harry and Ron. And it can't get any better than that."

She thought about that for a while. Yes, she did and does hate the trapped feeling of not being able to do a thing, to just wait for the hand that Fate have dealt you. To know that despite your best efforts, it might not be enough and she could end up losing everything. And she did lose something. She lost Sirius. _They _lost Sirius. But she still had Harry with her. She had Ron as well.

_So all you can do, Hermione said to herself, __is to just do your best. Do your best and have no regrets. And that there's nothing to fear but fear itself._

The smile that lit her face then would have caused quite a few boys besides Ron to gape in astonishment if they could have witnessed it. It was a smile of wonder, of discovery and it turned a pretty face into a beautiful one.

"Thank you Kyo, I—" she stopped. Kyo was fast asleep, head leaning against the arm rest, hands crossed protectively over his chest. Still smiling, Hermione walked quietly past him and up to her dormitory. She came back down with a blanket and covered the sleeping form tenderly.

"Thank you, Kyo," she said quietly, brushing back his soft bangs. "I like you. I really do. And Harry does as well. He loves you even, you and Professor Takashi. And I love Harry and I would do anything to protect him. Even if it means protecting him from you."

                                                            ***********

                                                           IT'S BEGUN 

                                                     By Arcana Draconis 

_Ever since the Ministry's surprising announcement a few months back concerning the return of He Who Must Not Be Named, speculation has run rampant regarding the Dreaded Lord's next move. Many have pointed the blame to the current Ministry for not heeding the warnings of the Boy-Who-Lived as well as the great Albus Dumbledore of such an event. It was with deep regret and shame that the wizarding world had even declared the Boy-Who-Lived to be insane, the next Dark Lord in the making for trying to protect the populace by speaking out, despite repeated slander from the public (we have published a full apology for our part in last week's issue)._

_And now it seems we must again depend on the power of the wizarding world's two saviours so help us once again. The public was rocked to its core with last month's Dementor attack on Queenshead leaving 140 killed with over 90 of the number Kissed. In the light of that event, Auror activities had been increased yet failed to reassure the populace._

_We, as the voice of the people, want these questions answered; how will the Dark Lord be stopped? When will the Ministry round up the escaped Dementors and let us sleep soundly in our beds? And who will take responsibility for the increasing number of Death Eater attacks?_

_"We're doing our best to contain the damage," was Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge's rather huffy comment. "Now bugger off; I have important meetings to attend."_

_Dare we leave the fate of the world in such hands? Maybe it's time we speak up and say what we really want; for Albus Dumbledore to lead the good fight and for the Boy-Who-Lived to give us hope once again._

*****to be continued*****

**New word: **Baku. A mythical creature from Japanese legends that eats dreams. Sourced from Neil Gaiman's adaptation of the legend of the monk and the fox, _The Dreamhunters_.


	16. Chapter 16:Samhain Part I

**                                                                     Chapter 16**

**                                                                 Samhain– Part I**

**                                                           Of the Kurosaki Clan**

The meeting tonight ran late as usual; its weary attendants finally calling halt when tomorrow's planned activities promised to be more than they could handle if they didn't. Dumbledore ushered the two most active members of the Order in Hogwarts, Snape and Lupin out of his office but instead of retreating into his inner sanctum, he followed them down the spiral staircase.

"Headmaster?" Lupin asked, his voice rather scratchy from hours of debate.

Dumbledore merely shook his head, smiling faintly. "Just wanting to stretch my legs a bit, Remus. Perhaps pop down to the kitchen for some hot chocolate. Care to join me?"

"That sounds like a lovely idea," Remus sighed, a hand rubbing his aching neck wearily. "Severus?"

The Potions Master made a noncommittal grunt which the other two readily took as a yes. Stepping off the staircase, the gargoyle closing back with a soft hiss, the three made their way silently through the changing hallways of Hogwarts. Hogwarts was unique in that it reflected the personality of its current Headmaster and perhaps, that says much for why it had 143 different staircases, walls that weren't walls and doors that insisted they weren't doors.  But today, the castle didn't seem to be much in the mood for levity or pranks. The hallways were silent and still, the revolving staircases stationary and the suits of armour were unmoving statues on their pedestals.

"It's rather quiet, isn't it?" Lupin remarked softly, as though afraid to disturb this weird sanctity.

Snape raised dark eyes that missed nothing, even the congealed shadows pooling in corners. "Work of yours, Albus?" he asked casually though his wand hand twitched.

Dumbledore's bushy eyebrows gathered in a frown, emphasizing the deep, craggy lines that etched the years into his careworn skin. "I do not control the castle, Severus," he rebuked gently.

"But you do influence it."

"To a certain extent. Do you feel that there's something we ought to be wary of?" Dumbledore stroked his long grey beard, just a harmless, senile old man.

"In these times, Albus, we can never be too careful," Snape observed and Dumbledore's solemn face lightened in a smile.

"Ever the pessimist," he said fondly. "What will I do without you, dear boy?"

Snape's flushed face deterred him from answering. Never comfortable with open affection, even the Headmaster's kind words robbed him temporarily of his composure and Lupin was rewarded with a sight few living ever seen; the Potions Master lost for words. But Lupin's kindly, retiring nature forbade him from poking fun. He quickly averted his face lest Snape saw his grin.

That was when the three of them heard it. A cry of fear.

Lupin pointed down the hallway to their left. "There, sir."

Wands out, the three exchanged grim looks and slowly, carefully, made their way down the dimly lit passage. They had no sooner reached a junction leading off into deeper shadows when the cry came again; from their right. Abandoning caution for haste, as Dumbledore recognized the sound of a student of Hogwarts in distress, he quickened his pace, Lupin and Snape momentarily falling behind in their surprise. 

They didn't have far to go as their guide became that of a wandlight not more than twenty paces deep. The dim magical light showed two hulking figures that Snape, as Head of Slytherin, immediately recognized.

"Mr. Crabbe, Goyle," he said sharply. "What are you doing out past curfew?"

Crabbe and Goyle, admittedly not the best and brightest of the lot, turned slowly, piggish eyes blinking.

Crabbe, who showed more wit, or rather, more inclination to speak than Goyle ever did, spoke for the two of them.

"Got hungry sir," he grunted. "Wanted to go to the kitchens."

"At 3 am?" Snape swiftly retorted but was forced to a halt by Dumbledore's soft chuckle.

"It's quite alright. Growing boys need their nourishment, eh?" His blue eyes twinkled cheerily in the wandlight.

Crabbe and Goyle nodded agreeably but Snape, always the devil to Dumbledore's saint, played his part well. "If I recall correctly, Mr. Crabbe," his tone all silken smooth, "The kitchens lie that way from the dorms," he pointed back in the direction they came from. "A little detour perhaps?"

Goyle looked as though to protest this sly accusation, if his slack mouth was any indication. But as usual, Crabbe came to the rescue. "We were," he scowled heavily. "But we found 'im wandering around." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Wanted to know what he was doing up."

Cheery twinkle doused in sudden alarm, Dumbledore gestured for the two to stand aside. Their pitiful _lumos__ failed to light the area properly so Dumbledore raised his own and even without the incantation, the tip blazed forth with a brilliance that was worth ten of Crabbe's._

The huddled figure it revealed cried out, one that was instantly recognizable as the voice they heard earlier. Dumbledore knew every student in the school by name and face, as did his professors but nevertheless, he said the name out loud, if more in astonishment than anything else.

"Shiozaki?"

Shiozaki, all black hair and faded t-shirt and flannel pants scuttled deeper into his corner, hands covering his eyes. In their shocked silence, they could make out the boy muttering, "Too bright, too bright."

Dumbledore immediately dimmed his spell till it was more of a gentle glow that still allowed them illumination to get by. That seemed to assure the boy as his protective stance relaxed. He straightened from his crouch, swaying a bit until he steadied himself against the stone wall.

"Severus," Dumbledore said softly.

Snape whirled on to his two wayward charges and curtly ordered them back to the Slytherin dorms, snacks bedamned. Cowed in the evidence of their Head's displeasure, the both of them scuttled off with little fuss.

"Mr. Shiozaki," the Headmaster began sternly, "What are you doing out of bed so late at night?"

Even before the reprimand came, Snape sensed something off with the boy, no matter his suspect presence here. His stance was oddly stiff, for one usually so graceful in their movements and the boy's blue eyes stared unblinkingly ahead. He frowned thoughtfully. Could the boy be. . . .?

"He's looking for me." the boy's voice was soft and shallow, barely above a whisper yet it carried with it a tint of fear that the three instinctively reacted to. Their stance became wary, wands gripped tighter.

"Who's looking for you, Kyo?" Lupin spoke up, edging closer to the statue still figure.

"He's looking for me," he repeated and began backing away. "I have to get away. Have to find Taka. Have you seen Taka? I can't find him anywhere."

Snape's suspicions were instantly confirmed. Catching the Headmaster's sleeve, he whispered hurriedly into his ear, "The boy's sleepwalking, Albus. Remember what Nigellus said?"

Lupin's werewolf hearings caught his words and he changed his approach accordingly. Putting his wand back into his pocket, Lupin crooned soothingly, holding out empty hands to the boy. "It's alright, Kyo. No one's here but us. We can help you find Takashi if you want."

Shiozaki wrung his hands nervously, blank eyes judging his intent. "You won't let _him get me?" The emphasis he laid on 'him' did not seem to mean his husband and Lupin shook his head._

"No, we won't. But you have to tell us who this 'him' is."

But Shiozaki repeated himself, "You can't let him get me. You have to promise."

Dumbledore intervened then, bypassing Lupin and taking Shiozaki's hand gently. "We promise," he said gravely.

Shiozaki visibly relaxed, a vague smile crossing his face. "Good. He caught me too many times already."

Knowing it useless to ask who this mysterious chaser was, Dumbledore tugged Shiozaki along and the boy followed unresistingly, obediently tagging after. The three professors kept their silence even as the boy did and soon enough he was led to his dormitory, the steady breathing and occasional snores indicating that his dorm mates were unaware of his nighttime sojourn. But when they managed to get Shiozaki in bed, Kurosaki stirred, peering out from behind his hangings.

"Professor?" he called groggily. "Is something wrong?"

"Go back to sleep, Kurosaki," Dumbledore said calmly. "Mr. Shiozaki had a little sleepwalking adventure I'm afraid, though nothing to worry about."

"What?" Sounding more awake now, Kurosaki stumbled out of his bed, sleepiness robbing him of his usual grace. He pushed himself in between Lupin and Snape, eyes fixed solely on Shiozaki who was now slumbering quietly underneath his covers.

"Is this a frequent occurrence for him, Kurosaki?" Snape asked, voice low and dark.

Kurosaki stared silently at his friend, not answering for a good while until Snape was ready to give the boy a good shake, to make sure he was still awake. Just as he raised his hand irritably, Kurosaki answered him.

"No, it isn't." And he refused to say more.

They left him there then, standing vigil over Shiozaki's bed, eyes devoid of expression. The three professors went their separate ways after exiting the Gryffindor common room, each forgetting the promise of hot chocolate.

                                                         ********

As the days passed, the excitement of the coming Samhain celebration reached fever pitch. Whispers and rumours spread like wildfire; inflaming the younger years with an enthusiasm that was looked upon with fond exasperation by the older years. They remembered how they themselves felt celebrating their first Halloween in the castle. Like everything else that is inherently Hogwarts, it had definitely been magical. This year though, the rumours reached a certain crescendo not reached the years before. A small few insisted that it would be the usual fare of food and drinks with a spot of ghost formation. A bigger number said that they had the inside certainty that the professors from Japan would be performing dark rites that night; calling up ancestors from beyond the veil and have dragons burning through the air. That got Tsuzuki laughing like crazy.

But another faction smiled knowingly. Dumbledore, they said quietly to themselves, had a special event alright. One reserved specially for the upper years; namely the sixth and seventh, and that it would be a night they'll remember for the rest of their life.

All that was well and good but for Harry, he had far more important things to worry about. Quidditch for instance. Harry took the post of captain seriously; diligently being the first to practice and the last to leave every time. The auditions were held in staggered runs; Professor McGonagall wanting the hopefuls be put through their paces. By the time the final stage was reached, quite a few had dropped out, daunted by the stern professor's unswerving dedication to the art of Quidditch and its perfection. That, and the maniacal enthusiasm two redheads and a certain captain had for late practices. Nevertheless, by the time they got through the whole shebang, Gryffindor had itself a full complementary team. It was on Harry's insistence that they did so. He didn't want the team to suffer through members sitting out due to injuries or unforeseen circumstances.

Like Dark Lords attacking for one.

Since this was the first time in Harry's Quidditch career that they actually had a reserve team to practice with, it was taken full advantage of. Practice usually ran till late evening and only the staunchest of friends would willingly wait for the team members in the stands. For Harry, that would usually either be Hermione, Hisoka, Kyo or a combination of the three. The first practice had seen the Japanese delegates, including the professors, trying to figure out Quidditch. Offers to teach them how to fly a broomstick was politely declined.

That evening, a cold Wednesday before Samhain, practice finished late as usual sans his usual spectators. If Harry hurried, he would just have enough time to freshen up and stow his Firebolt in the dorms and get dinner with the others. Whistling happily, Harry quickly navigated his way through the halls to the Gryffindor tower. He loved Quidditch. It was a  good, hard exercise which gave him that warm glow that made everything seem alright with the world and Harry was determined to enjoy it while it lasted.

"Fox-demon," he said cheerfully to the Fat Lady.

The portrait beamed at him even as she swung open.

"So lovely to see you all chipper, my dear," she sang out.

Harry clambered in the portrait hole, meaning to go straight to the dorms when he noticed a little crowd of familiar people by the fireplace.

"What's up?" Harry slid in between Hisoka and Kyo. "Are those new dress robes Hermione?" he asked, surprised.

Hermione rolled her eyes while Kyo ruffled his hair affectionately. "Don't be an idiot, Harry," he jibed. "Those are not dress robes. They're _shikifuku_."

"Eh?"

"Ceremonial robes for omnyouji," Kyo explained. "We got requests from a lot of people wanting to see us dress up for Samhain and luckily, we managed to get our friend to send us the _shikifuku_over."

There were four of the so-called _shikifuku_ laid out along the couch like flat puppets. Harry could make out that there were two parts to the robes; the top and bottom. The bottom was an interesting piece; looking like full skirts yet (after he curiously poked a couple) were actually split trousers. The whole outfit looked appropriately exotic with its wide, full sleeves and the skirt that was not a skirt. The material was of heavy, pure white cotton with the edges of the sleeves banded with a wide, dark blue stitching. He could tell just by a glance that the sleeves itself would probably sweep the ground, or at least, give the Japanese a good impression of birds.

"So what are you doing Hermione?" Harry asked, absently batting away Kyo's inquisitive fingers that were trying to pluck a few twigs from his Firebolt.

"Just helping them get rid of the wrinkles," she murmured and with a last wave of her wand, the robes smoothened out, looking freshly pressed.

"Thank you, Hermione," Hisoka said politely. "Kyo, why don't you go and put it away before it crumples up again?"

"Slave master." But the older boy picked up the outfits anyway and headed up for the dorms, Harry trailing behind.

"So why don't you wear those robes during other times anyway?" Hermione asked as she took up the seat vacated by the robes. In an almost offhand gesture, she took out a battered notebook and a muggle pen.

Hisoka raised a fine, blond eyebrow. "Like we said, it's ceremonial. Besides, do _you _need to wear your robes to be a proper witch?"

"Ah. Point taken."

"I thought so."

"So what's so special about the robes?" she asked, flipping open to a fresh page in her notebook and tapping the pen against the paper absently.

Hisoka shrugged, picking up his own books and straightening them casually. A small frown marred his forehead, his green eyes studiously locked on an Arithmancy book he was going through. "Why do priests wear the habit? We got the tradition of _shikifuku_from Shinto practice. Omnyouji with a clan background would usually have the symbol of their clan at the back. The Sumeragi's is a pentagram," he added thoughtfully.

"Yours didn't have any symbols," Hermione noted.

"They—I mean, we," Hisoka caught himself quickly, "don't come from such a background. The old families are dying out anyway." He turned his back to Hermione and started stuffing his satchel with his books almost desperately. He cursed softly when one almost slipped his grasp but Hermione, behind him, was scratching frantically in her notebook and got in another question anyway, even when it was obvious that Hisoka felt uncomfortable with the line of questioning.

"So do dark omnyouji have their own robes and symbols as well?"

Hisoka stilled, and turned around slowly. Picking up his bag, he slung the strap over his shoulder and gave Hermione an impenetrable look. "They do," he said, his tone neutral. "It's usually black and symbols? Only if they have clans. The Sumeragi's opposite, the Sakurazuka, is of an inverted pentagram. Do you have any more questions?"

Hermione shook her head, smiling brightly even as she made sure that the notebook was properly hidden, having tucked it away when the boy turned to face her. "No, thank you."

Hisoka nodded but said nothing more. His green eyes slid to a spot behind Hermione and for a moment, she was frozen in fear, thinking that they were found out but quickly dismissed it as a passing fancy when Hisoka did nothing more but to flick his gaze back on her. He excused himself with a "I better make sure that Kyo puts the robes away carefully. _Shikifuku_are ritually blessed and it would not do to have them soiled."

With pursed lips and narrowed eyes, Hermione let Hisoka go silently, never taking her gaze of the slight form until it disappeared around a bend in the staircase. She wasn't startled when Ron came up beside her quietly, shedding Harry's Invisibility cloak and quickly tucking it in his sweater. He sat down beside her, eyeing the girl with a frown.

"Please tell me that you actually got something from that conversation because I sure as hell don't," Ron said bluntly.

"Language, Ron," Hermione said absently. "And he did let something slip. He's from a clan."

"And. . . .?"

"Well, that makes it easier to find information on him at least. Old wizarding families usually keep accurate records about their lineage don't they? I'm sure Japanese clans keep that custom as well. Tsk," she tutted, "It would be lovely if we could have the internet here in Hogwarts. Makes things so much faster," she murmured to herself.

"Eh? In the net? In what net?"

"Never mind Ron," she said briskly and stood up, carefully smoothing down her skirt and for once, totally oblivious to Ron's sudden blush. "C'mon, we got fifteen minutes before dinner starts. Enough time for a quick look in the library."

"Hermione!" Ron groaned. "I just got back from practice. "I'm hungry!"

"Of course, I forgot that your stomach is far more important than Harry's, our _best friend_, safety. Silly me," she retorted coolly.

"Never mind then," Ron said hastily. "If we hurry, we can catch them on the way down."

"I knew you'd see it my way," Hermione beamed.

                                                              *****************

October 31st, 1996 would be a memorable day to a lot of people. For a Gary Miller from Hufflepuff, it would be the day he got his first kiss. From another boy.

For Zekie Gourray, fourth year Gryffindor, it would be the day that she determined once and for all that no, you can't use a Gameboy in Hogwarts, no matter what spell you use.

For Ehren Tsang and Bertie Mandrake, it would be the day that each discovered that they both harboured a secret crush on a certain Japanese professor (whom shall remain nameless to protect the safety of these two innocent boys from the wrath of said professor's husband).

For Draco Malfoy, the ultimate Slytherin, it would be the day he confronted his enemy and walk away unscathed.

For Harry Potter, the Golden Boy of Gryffindor, it would be the day he made what was perhaps, the rashest decision in his life. One that would have ensured his certain death if no one had been able to stop him. But grief and regret can do strange things to your mind so perhaps, young Potter may be excused. After he was given the verbal trashing of his life for scaring people like that of course.

But that would all happen later, on that most magical of nights.

For now, they had the Halloween feast to survive first.

It being a Feast only, the students wore their usual black robes, though spirits were high with the anticipation and excitement of a good repast. Classes had been cut short for the day with most of the sixth years in particular good moods as Professor Takashi's class (along with Tsuzuki), had been treated to a fine lesson in illusion making. The class had found Tsuzuki and Takashi's impromptu Kabuki quite entertaining, especially as the characters were their very own professors and students.

Dinnertime rolled around with the second years regaling the first with mouth-watering tales of their own first Feast. Salivating mouths were in evidence as the Gryffindors made ready to head en masse to the Great Hall. Girlfriends were finding girlfriends with giggles and excited squeals while the boys talked about how full their stomachs would be and did anyone remember to bring the stomachache potion? Harry was part of that excited crowd, his good cheer from yesterday's practice still with him, especially evident in the fact that he had yet to blush incessantly while talking with Ginny. Hermione and Ron were with them as well, heads bent close together with an almost secretive air. Harry would have felt a little left out then if he wasn't enjoying his banter with Ginny but enjoy he did. All that was holding the four of them back from heading down though was a few late stragglers, two of them being Kyo and Hisoka.

Voices floated down the staircase, one younger than the other and decidedly annoyed.

"I'm not a bloody switch you know. I can't just turn it on like that and have everything laid out to me."

A reply came, too low to be heard and the voice, which Harry recognized as Hisoka's, answered, "It's all that stupid git's fault anyway. If he would just _tell _us what he wants instead of dithering like an idiot. . ."

The rest of what he meant to say died when the two Japanese rounded the last corner. Stepping in almost perfect unison, Kyo and Hisoka entered the common room, and spotting Harry, headed immediately for him. In their wake, awed whispers and blatant fingers were pointed at them.

Kyo and Hisoka were. . .beautiful. Harry had to gulp to clear his throat, eyes wide with appreciation. Clad in their _shikifuku_, the white robes were a stark contrast to the now seemingly dull everyday black robes of Hogwarts. Like Harry predicted, their sleeves almost brushed the floor like graceful wings of a bird. _Or a shikigami_, Harry thought to himself. The dark stitching only highlighted the pristine white and moving in that sea of black, the two boys glowed. The robes fell in clean formal lines, accentuating their forms and giving Kyo a waiflike air and emphasizing his sharp cheekbones. Hisoka was a young angel, his wheat-blond hair like the softest gold and his green eyes, all the more brighter for the contrast. As they drew nearer, Harry noticed that instead of shoes, they wore weird (to Harry that is) white socks, which were almost like shoes in that it was split for the big toe and straw sandals.

Kyo and Hisoka seemed to realize the attention they were garnering and their response was typically them. Hisoka scowled, ruining his angelic image while Kyo threw a few of the younger girls a flirtatious wink. Reaching the group, Kyo and Hisoka stopped, exchanged a meaningful look and with identical smiles (Hisoka smiling in any shape or form has never ceased to amaze Harry), the two of them bowed to Harry.

Something struck deep in Harry's chest. A feeling so strong that he almost gasped for breath, surprised. It was awe he felt. The two bowing figures in white were ethereal, luminous and out of this world and for a brief moment, a very brief moment, he imagined that he could see whole vistas never meant for the eyes of a mortal.

But that feeling lasted barely a second. Rising from his bow, Kyo slung an arm over Harry, all the while tugging him impatiently for the portrait hole. "Let's get going. I want to see Tsuzuki and Takashi in their robes." He grinned evilly. "Tsuzuki is going to _die, _since he has to behave so properly wearing one and at a feast nonetheless."

"Stop maligning Tsuzuki," Hisoka sniffed from somewhere behind them. "Even if you are right," he added thoughtfully.

                                                                    ***********

It was their main course so to speak. Chickens, potatoes, greens, fish and the odd duck made an appearance. Harry and friends were happily stuffing their faces though Kyo, whom despite his healthy appetite, was delicately pinning a sliver of chicken with his fork.

"This is so annoying," he muttered. "I can't _eat _with the bloody robes on. I knew it was going to come and bite me back on the ass, making fun of Tsuzuki like that. . ."

"Goes to show what goes around, comes around," Hisoka murmured to his potatoes.

Kyo then managed to make a very rude gesture with just his fork and that sliver of chicken.

Harry chuckled silently to himself. Kyo and Hisoka, like anyone who's been friends for a long time, had their own lingo and jokes which the outsider would flounder in trying to understand. But Harry was beginning to get a few of it and even when he didn't, it amused him nonetheless. He turned to Ron, wanting to comment on that but found the redhead deeply immersed in talk with Hermione. Harry sighed, a little hurt, but tried to understand anyway. That's what best friends are supposed to be, right?

He didn't have to stew in his righteous misery for long. Ron and Hermione ended their whispered conversation and turned away from each other, Ron to Harry and Hermione to Seamus who sat beside her.

"Hey, mate," Ron caught his sleeve. "The upper year prefects are supposed to spread the word. After the feast, all seventh and sixth years are to go back to the dorms, change to our best robes and meet again here."

Harry frowned. "Why?"

Ron shrugged. "Dunno. They say there's a secret celebration for the upper years. It'll be cool though, I bet," he grinned. "It _is_ Dumbledore."

"Hisoka and Kyo?" he indicated the bickering pair who had moved on to the salads as ammunition.

"They're invited as well."

Extremely curious now, Harry quietly passed the message along to Kyo. Kyo frowned, munching on a lettuce reflectively. 

"A secret party huh?" he shifted restlessly in his seat, irritably pushing his voluminous sleeves out of the way. "Where do you think it'll be held at?"

"I don't know. It is a secret after all," Harry replied pointedly.

"Prat," Kyo retorted halfheartedly. He scowled fiercely at his unoffending chicken which had a rather forlorn air, pierced as it was with numerous stabs from the avenging fork.  "I wanna have _gravy, _dammit!"

"Language, Kyo," Hisoka and Hermione chorused.

"Oh, poo."

                                                                **********

The seventh and sixth year students, now dressed in their best, were milling together in curious and anticipating clumps in the Great Hall. The tables had been cleared of the remnants of the feast, scrubbed bare and shining and the decorations had been taken down. So the party wasn't going to be held here after all, they whispered among themselves.

Kyo and Hisoka, still clad in their shikifuku, were joined by the other two Japanese, similarly clad as well. The four waited silently, Harry, Hermione and Ron filling up the quiet with small chatter. They didn't have long to wait before Dumbledore, and only Dumbledore, swept into the Hall. His arrival hushed the talk and the students gathered together expectantly.

"My dear students," Dumbledore smiled, "Thank you for being so prompt. Now, if you would please close your eyes?"

Exchanging wondering glances, the students shrugged, rather fatalistically it might be added. This _is _Dumbledore. Weird requests or commands were almost expected of the man so they complied readily.

"No peeking now!" Dumbledore said cheerfully. "On one. . .two. . .three!"

A bang and with much purple smoke, the Hall was suddenly empty.

*****to be continued*****

**A/N: **Okay, I realize this is rather abrupt but there's a reason for my madness! The coming part, done by the talented, wonderful, I-worship-her-genius **Librarycat**, is LONG. Yes, very LONG. And richly detailed. Rather than have this chapter go to endless lengths, I decided to push it to the next chapter. No worries though. Chapter 17 will be out THIS WEEKEND as well. Yippee!


	17. Chapter 17:Samhain Part II

**Title: **When Death comes a'knocking

**Plot Mistresses: **Shiozaki, Shaynie, Literary Eagle, Librarycat

**Spell Researchers: **The beautiful people at my Yahoo mailing list; _Shadowsofthefox___

**Chapter Warning: **None

**Scene Master: **Mostly Librarycat. The awesome Samhain scene you're about to read is her product. She gave the secret celebration a rich, detailed texture that begs more exploring. I merely added bits and pieces so I can still say I'm writing this story ^___^ But the Snape x Kyo scene was mine! *Cough*Pathetic*Cough*

**                                                                Chapter 17**

**                                                           Samhain-Part II**

**                                                            The Wild Hunt**

Harry had absolutely no idea where they had been transferred to, and he wasn't entirely sure _how_ it had happened, either. His fellow Gryffindors looked just as perplexed and lost as he did, and in the darkness and biting wind, they had a tendency to huddle together like a flock of sheep. Dressed in their best robes, Harry included, the nice fabrics just weren't up to job of keeping out the late autumn cold. Although Kyo, Hisoka, Tsuzuki and Takashi dressed in their odd, white robes at least didn't look to be freezing off any vital parts. The bare, rough stone plateau they stood upon was forbidding, swept by the sharp wind. The moon was hanging like a bloody sliver, a fingernail paring, just barely above the craggy heights. Stars, an abundant river of glittering, icy light arched overhead. Harry stared at the moon, dazedly thinking _It's in the wrong position for the last night of the old moon, or the first of the new. . ._

He turned in place, scanning the dim landscape for some clue. By the time he had turned nearly three-quarters of the way around, he got the shock of his life: below him, beyond a sea of trees that clawed black on black, was the warm glow of Hogwarts, every one of its hundreds of windows bright with rich, yellow light, torches on the battlements and lining the winding road that led to the main gates. The castle shone like a beacon, a lighthouse to lead the traveler home across the stormy sea. 

"Ahem.. . ." A voice, magically enhanced by a Sonorus charm, drew the attention of the confused students to a tall figure in front of a heaped mountain of timber. Professor Dumbledore, in between his transfer of the students to this mysterious location, had managed to change his robes. He looked unusually regal in a full set of wizarding robes in dark purple velvet, trimmed about the collar and hem with sable. His white beard shone in the faint starlight, and a glint ricocheted off of his half-moon glasses. The slender length of his wand waved like a conductor's baton as he spoke, encouraging the students to approach. 

"I am pleased to welcome you all to tonight's Samhain celebration. For some of you, this festive occasion will come as a bit of shock, but I assure you, that no part of the Dark Rites will be celebrated on this holy ground. We are met to accomplish a number of goals." He paused, looking deliberately around the mass of students from all four Houses that slowly gathered into clumps in front of him. His mild blue eyes lit for a moment on Harry, seeming to carry a special message in their implacable depths. The startled boy froze in the act of stumbling backwards, unable to flee as the Headmaster's words took on a meaning just for him. "Samhain is many things. It is the night that the Veil between the worlds of the living and the dead is at its thinnest. We shall remember those who have passed beyond before us. It is the night that we lay to rest the light half of the year, passing through the Doorway into the Winter Lands. We shall set aside old enmities, just as the Earth herself passes into the rest of sleep. The Year's Wheel is turning, and we shall turn with it."

"For those of you whose Latin isn't quite up to snuff, or as in the case of our foreign visitors, a language with which you may not have much familiarity, I shall be casting a translation charm. Please remember, however, that responses _should_ be made in proper form." The Headmaster's knowing gaze settled on a couple of students who squirmed uncomfortably. Harry recognized one as a Hufflepuff boy who had been forced to repeat the Introduction of Magical History class because he simply could not retain the proper names of even major events. Hermoine had offered to help him study. Once. And then rescinded the offer when she caught him using her notes as a fly swatter. _Although_, Harry had to admit, _any fly hit with that much parchment was probably very, very dead. _Distracted, Harry jumped when the magically enhanced voice rolled out again

"Procul e profani. _Begone__ all evil."_

Dumbledore raised his arms till he resembled nothing so much as the crucifixion, his palms turned upward to the glittering sky. After a long pause, he brought his hands together above his head.

"Ab Igne Caelesti._ From Celestial Fire."  _

Illusory salamanders of flickering orange, gold and scarlet formed to the south. Harry noted Hermione, standing on Ron's far side, twitch. Her mouth opened, and he could just imagine her saying _But, you start casting Invocation of the Four Quarters from the NORTH, with Earth. Not the South! _Their Headmaster turned to face the west, drawing his hands down in front of himself, then spreading them to the side, palms forward.

"Ad Aquosum Profundom. _To Watery Abyss._"

A shimmer of blue, forming the twisting, sinuous shapes of undines in an ocean current, formed in front of him. The elderly wizard turned again, putting his back toward the assembled students as he faced the mountain of wood, and beyond it, the North Star that seemed to pulse faintly. He raised his left hand to his chest, and extended it, palm forward.

"Via Terrena. _By Way of Earth._"

Coil upon coil of dark, aged bronze scales twisted to the north, forming into a vast dragon. The dark browns were touched by an occasional bit of verdigris, and the creature's eye was a whirlpool of deep gold. Dumbledore seemed uninterested in the glittering, intelligent eye that focused upon him. He turned again, this time facing to the east, repeating the gesture with his right hand.

"Via Aeria. _By Way of Air._"

Sylphs, a paler, more silvery shade than the watery undines, fluttered. They were such delicate, ethereal creatures that Harry couldn't be sure whether they had the forms of women, like the undines, or slender, attenuated birds. The wizard's eyes echoed the pale light, more silver than blue as he turned again, facing at last south toward the mass of Hogwarts' sixth and seventh years. He brought his arms together, crossing them over his chest, pale hands clearly visible against the dark purple of his robes.

"Semper in Medio manens. Esto!_ Abiding always in the Center. So be it!" _

The colors of the four quarters ran together in a soundless burst of fireworks, leaping high overhead, forming a shifting, glistening curtain of light that slowly lowered itself all around about the outcropping of stone. The Aurora Borealis wavered overhead, and wrapped transparently around the crag. The biting wind that had swept over the height was cut off as if by a knife, and instead a gentle warmth began to seep into Harry's frozen feet from the ground beneath him. 

"Wow. . .That's one bloody big, er. . .kekkai," he stammered. Hisoka blinked, likewise surprised. But it was Kyo's reaction that got Harry the most.  Kyo had stayed by Harry's side during the invocation, silent and still and Harry hadn't been paying much attention to him, arrested as he was by the powerful magicks that the Headmaster was invoking. But with the ward cast, Harry was surprised to see that Kyo's stillness was not one due to boredom or even awe (as most of the Hogwarts' students were), but it was definitely _something_. Kyo stood rigid, his eyes closed and hands balled by his sides. As though sensing Harry's concerned gaze, he opened his blue eyes but his pupils were unnaturally dilated, the black nearly eclipsing the blue.

Kyo started swaying then, an imperceptible movement that seemed to be more of a drunken act than deliberate. Takashi, who had moved to the other side of the gathering to join some of the professors, caught Hisoka's eyes and gestured urgently. Hisoka blinked, then looked over to Kyo. His mouth pinched into a thin line which Harry wasn't sure if it was due to displeasure. 

"Kyo," he said sharply and Kyo shook his head, as though to clear it. But still the air of drunkenness lingered, evident in his swaying and still wide eyes.

Hisoka sighed irritably. "Dammit," he muttered and grasped Kyo's hand in his. Frowning, Harry could just make out at the edge of his awareness, a rush of. . .something. Something indefinable yet trailing silvery white light. It seemed to flow from Hisoka's hand and into Kyo's and squinting further, Harry could practically make out that silvery rush head straight to Kyo's eyes. There was a barely discernible glow around those dilated pupils and Harry saw the awareness return to his friend.

"Wha. ." Kyo shook his head again, releasing Hisoka's hand as he did so.  "What happened?"

"Make your shields thicker, Kyo," Hisoka murmured beneath his breath, too faint for anyone else but Harry and Kyo to hear. "You're getting influenced."

"Oh. . .yeah. Okay." Kyo took a deep breath, holding it in deep for a long time and gently releasing it. His balled hands relaxed and another cleansing breath had him looking normal again.

"What happened, Kyo?" Harry whispered in an aside as expectation hung thick in the air. Something else was going to happen shortly.

"Eh," Kyo grinned sheepishly. "I'm sensitive to magicks that uses the elements. My usual shields weren't up to the summoning that Dumbledore did and I got. . ." he paused, searching for the right words and he smiled wryly. "I got high," he said simply.

"Oh," Harry replied, not sure what to say. He never knew that you could get drunk on a magic rush. But then, his mind reasoned, maybe that's why some people get addicted to the Dark Arts or whatever. Because they a high from it.

As he was theorizing this, the massive bells in the clock tower began ringing the changes, the deep, sonorous notes and the sweeter, higher peals clearly audible on the crag despite the warding spells that held the wind at bay. It was just now midnight.

Glimmering orange and blue lines ran outward from the school's Headmaster, forming a vast pentagram with the heaped timbers and bundled, smaller branches in its center. Each point of the star sent additional brilliant streamers snaking across the rocky ground, until a circle surrounded the pentagram. The wavering curtain of the Aurora Borealis settled into that ring with an almost audible _snap!_ of magical power. The ground beneath their feet smoothened until it could have passed for the floor of the Great Hall, and the flickering, colored lights overhead made it possible to see the faces of everyone in the enormous circle. A murmur of amazed pleasure rippled through the gathered students, and Harry almost expected someone to break into a round of applause. A twitching smile appeared on Dumbledore's face, and he cleared his throated peremptorily, cutting off any unseemly excess of enthusiasm.

"To continue, my dear young ladies and gentlemen. . ." There was no mistaking the emphasis on the polite terms, and the crowd stilled. They would at least attempt to live up to his expectations. His mouth twitched again, then settled into the appropriately solemn lines. "If you would all please be so good as to check the pockets of your robes, I think you will find a number of articles. . .?" The suggestion was greeted with the fidgeting and rustling of close to two hundred teenagers. Everyone drew out small velvet bags, bundles of twigs, and ridiculously long, curled quills. Harry frowned at his; the blue-black feather must have come off of an ostrich. The only question was, how in the world had the thing fit in his pocket? Hisoka and Kyo were eyeing theirs with trepidation.

"Now, if you will all look inside the pouches, please, I am sure you will find some slips of parchment, as well as various herbs. Your charge is to write upon these slips the names of any and all who are dear to you, who have been lost to you during this past year. You may write the names of those who have departed the world of the living, or those who are distant, and yes, even the names of those whose love has been lost through quarrels. If you have a particular message that you wish to add, that is also acceptable. Now, if you will all please begin?" 

The familiar scratching sound of quills filled the air, almost as if they were sitting down to an exam in a classroom, instead of standing on a barren tor in the middle of the Scottish wilderness. But despite that familiarity, Harry simply couldn't do it; he couldn't make his quill touch the creamy yellow surface of the parchment in his trembling grasp. _I can't!_ he thought frantically, _I can't do this!_

A warm hand settled on his wrist, calling him back to reality. Kyo's pale blue eyes, warm and intensely sympathetic, met his.

"It's okay, Harry," he said gently. "You aren't going to forget him. Why don't you write your godfather a short note? Maybe tell him. . .I don't know. . . How much you love him, and miss him?" 

Harry gave a jerky nod, willing his overflowing eyes to not betray him. "O- okay. I could do that. I guess." He scribbled the words, his shaking hand making his script even more unintelligible than usual. _If this note ever makes it to Sirius,_ he thought, light-headed, _he's going to have no idea what I wrote._

Kyo was a comforting presence by his side, as he wrote out words of affection he could barely comprehend himself through his sheen of tears that filmed everything he saw. Hisoka had moved to his other side, a staunch bastion against the grief that threatened to overwhelm his soon if he didn't finish the note quick. Finally done with his, Harry stuffed his quill back into his robes, surreptitiously wiping his eyes on his sleeve. Kyo patted his back comfortingly and it was then that Harry noticed that both Kyo and Hisoka had set down their own little bundle on the ground, each refusing to write anything. Looking around, Harry could see that Takashi and Tsuzuki were likewise as well; each clearly uncomfortable with this part of the ceremony.

Dumbledore did not bring them to task for it, politely ignoring the fact that their 'visitors' were refusing to partake of the ritual. Instead, he waited patiently until the last quill had fallen still. "Now then, bundle up your twigs and the herbs from your pouch. Wrap your parchment around the bundle. . .and tie it with the cord that you will also find inside. Be sure to wrap your bindings widdershin, rather than deosil, since we will be casting a charm of unbinding. 

"Well done, students. While some of you will doubtless recognize these herbs, I will explain for the benefit of those of you who have less of an interest in Herbology. The three are rue, for regret, rosemary, for remembrance; and thyme, for courage. Your twigs include rowan, which I am sure you are all familiar with for its ability to break evil enchantments. But it is also the Tree of Life that is sacred to the goddess Brigit and symbolizes healing. And you have also been provided with hawthorn, sacred to the goddess Maia, of love and death; and hazel twigs, representing the tree of wisdom and immortality." 

As the massed students again rustled into silence, the Headmaster beckoned them forward with a genial smile. He turned to the piled wood, and made a complex gesture with his wand. "Fiat lux! _Let there be light!_" Flames blossomed, quickly climbing. Leaping, ruddy light washed over the crowd of students., Kyo flinching back though the bonfire was a good ten feet away from them at least. Albus Dumbledore watched for a long moment, smiling faintly with satisfaction. It was a good omen, a very good omen indeed, when the bonfire lit so readily. He glanced back at the students.

 "Now, if you will all come and form a circle around the fire, please. Hold your remembrances at the ready." The old wizard was more amused than anything else at the jostling and grumbling as Slytherins avoided Gryffindors and vice versa. Harry found himself standing between Kyo and Amanda Fitzhugh from their Defense class. The pretty girl shot Harry a smile, though she did not say anything. 

Smiling back, Harry couldn't help but feel a jolt of regret that Ginny, being only in her fifth year, could not join in the celebrations. Meanwhile, Hermione shot curious looks around the other boys in an effort to see what the Japanese would do with the decidedly European ceremonies. Kyo had crossed his arms over his chest, burying his hands in his voluminous sleeves and eyeing the bonfire with a decidedly uncomfortable air. Hisoka, on his left, caught his elbow and murmured a few words in his ear, too low for Harry to discern. The older boy shot Hisoka a brief smile and shook his head faintly. Catching Harry's eyes, Kyo gave him a small grin and a mild reproving look. _Pay attention, _that look said and Harry sighed, turning back to face the Headmaster obediently. Finally, Dumbledore raised his wand and began the invocation.

            "Adeste, Quirites. 

_Be present, People._

Venite, ad Sanctum Centrum. 

_Come to the protected center._

Portae Dicudantur. 

_Let the door be opened._

Salvete, Majores et Di Manes nostrae. 

_Greetings to our ancestors and divine dead. _

Majores et Di Manes, mactete hoc sacrificio. 

_Ancestors and divine dead, accept our sacrifice._

Te precor uti sies propititious mihi domo familiaque nostrae,

                        _I pray you be of good will to me, to our house and household,_

Quoius re ergo hoc sacrificium offero,

                        _For which purpose I make this offering,_

Uti tu adversis visos invisosque prohibessis defendas averruncesque.

That you prohibit, defend and avert things seen and unseen that may oppose us.

Venite inligemus, 

_Come unbind them."_

Dumbledore gestured for them all to throw the little, bundled offerings into the flames. Gouts of marvelous colors shot up as each tiny slip of parchment caught fire, and sparks swirled upward, riding the thermal currents. Harry was vaguely aware of Kyo shivering beside him, and that his friend didn't throw anything into the fire, but any chance he might have had to speak was lost as a tall goblet materialized in his hand. The startled boy nearly dropped it, and was sure that several people around the circle did, despite being accustomed to the habits of the Hogwarts' Great Hall. The house-elves probably had their hands full cleaning up _that _mess. He sniffed curiously at the cup's contents, and was relieved to find that it smelled like spiced cider. The Headsaster's still-enchanted voice suggested "Take a sip, all of you, then pour the remainder into the fire. Repeat after me:

            "Majores et Di Manes, mactete hoc vino inferior. 

_Ancestors and divine dead, accept our wine._

_Wine?! _Harry sputtered at the unaccustomed burn of alcohol in his throat. Under the pleasant flavor of apples, cloves, nutmeg, and cinnamon, was a bite worthy of a dragon. His eyes teared, and he nearly sprayed the offending stuff out his nose. Oh, that would be even worse – and he pinched the bridge of his nose until he could safely breathe again. He gasped out the Latin phrase and hastily flung the contents of the goblet at the fire. The empty cup vanished immediately, only to be replaced by a flat, round cake. This time when the amplified instructions said "Take a bite, toss the remainder into the fire, and repeat after me," Harry was understandably cautious. The cake, however, was delicious. He could readily identify only a few ingredients, such as chopped hazel nuts, and pomegranate seeds, but there was nothing that bit back so far as he could tell. It was with some regret that he lobbed the remainder into the fire.

            "Eiusdem rei ergo macte panem esto.

                        _So also may you be blessed by this offering of bread."_

Harry sighed as he completed the phrase, shifting uncomfortably. It wasn't so much that they were standing outside at midnight performing some arcane ritual. . .Well, then again, perhaps it was. Unwelcome thoughts of Cedric Diggory, and his parents crowded into his head. How could he have thought to say something so personal as "I love you, and I miss you," to Sirius, and not say _anything_ to the others? The 'Noble Dead' in his case included just about everyone who meant anything to him. People he cared about were constantly getting hurt through his stupidity. How long would it be before his bad luck claimed its next victim? Harry cringed inwardly; _Who will it be this time? Ron? Hermione? Kyo?_

Precor uti sies volens propitious illis Quiritibus to laudatis,

                        _May you look with favor upon these People who have honored you,_

Majores et Di Manes nostrae. 

_Our ancestors and divine dead._

Uti tu adversis visos invisosque prohibessis defendas averruncesque.

That you prohibit, defend and avert things seen and unseen that may oppose us.

Venite inligemus, 

_Come unbind them._

Majores et Di Manes, gratias vobis agamus!

                                    _Ancestors and divine dead, we thank you!_

            Salus, that which is sound and whole. . .Esto! 

At the final "Esto," the flames roared and smoke billowed from the top of the bonfire, leaping a hundred feet or more into the air. Nervously, the students fell back, but Dumbledore's cheerful voice rose over top of the crackling fire. "We are nearly finished, my friends. One final ritual, while the house-elves finish setting up refreshments for us, and you will all be free to enjoy a well earned party. Please, if you would all be so kind as to step back. . .?" The white haired wizard made vague shooing motions at them, but after the ritual, no one was inclined to chuckle. The ring of sixth and seventh years fragmented, breaking into clumps by House, and again by associations. Harry caught a glimpse of Malfoy, looking oddly alone without his henchmen, then he spotted the two Slytherins standing beside an older boy, one of the seventh years. Green eyes blinked in surprise, then, intrigued, followed Malfoy until he lost him in the crowd. Could it be that Lucius Malfoy landing in Azkaban had actually _hurt_ his son's standing in his House? What a bizarre thought.

"I don't like this," Harry caught Hisoka muttering to Kyo. "This ritual is too risky."

Hermione heard as well and she eagerly pressed close, startling the two Japanese. "Why do you say so?" she asked, eyes bright with reflected flames and that familiar burn for knowledge.

Hisoka frowned but it was Kyo who answered her, taking a step back when one of the burning logs popped audibly, sending bright sparks shooting high into the air. "As the Headmaster said, Samhain, here in the British Isles, is the night when the Veils between the worlds are at its thinnest. It's the perfect time for summoning and necromancy-based rituals." He made a faint gesture with his head, indicating around them. "Even with such a strong kekkai, anything can happen. If you recall the ceremony, the bonfire is now a gateway to other realms."

"You mean. . .anything can just pop out?" Hermione squeaked.

Kyo merely grinned.

Standing there, as warm as if he was in the Great Hall and not in the middle of nowehere, Harry slowly made out a sound that intruded. It was too low at first, a faint hum at the background but slowly, it rose until he could tell that someone, or a lot of someones, was chanting. The solemn chant reverberated from the stones, heralding the approach of a dual procession. Two black lines of cloaked and hooded figures approached, and parted to pass in opposite directions around the mountain of faggots. Confused by the dim, orange light, and the flickering shadows that seemed more substantial than the figures themselves, Harry couldn't get an accurate count; as few as thirty? More likely as many as fifty? He could make out some of the individual voices, both male and female, that rose but they were so tangled in echoes that he couldn't make out the words.

Cloaks were discarded into the arms of one of their number, revealing the school's professors. Harry stared in amazement at the lead figure in the men's line; it was Severus Snape. He had changed his usual robes for a dark crimson coat of heavy, moiré satin that hung in smooth lines over his shoulders and fitted snuggly over a lean chest and narrow hips. Tiny buttons closed the tight sleeves that came down of the backs of his pale, long-fingered hands, and closed the high collar that hugged his throat. The vertical lines were echoed in the silk curtains of clean, black hair that framed his lean face and fell over his shoulders. The coat's full skirt hung to his calves and flared dramatically as he walked, or more precisely stalked, over to his opposite number in the women's line; the Head of Gryffindor House, Professor McGonagall. Snape bowed deliberately. "Minerva." His voice was deep and sultry. Harry was surprised by the challenge in the man's hooded dark eyes, an in the sensual smile the curled his thin lips. Snape actually looked handsome at that moment.

"Severus." McConagall's reply held a world of amusement. She ran her eyes over the man's tall form, and her mouth quirked into an answering smile. Her everyday robes had also been exchanged for a different set, dark velvet that held a glint of emerald green in their folds, and her hair lay in thick waves of silver streaked black down her back. She extended her hands to him, and he stepped closer, settling one of his hands on her waist and lifting the other, hers held lightly in his. McGonagall's free hand lay familiarly on his shoulder. 

The moment they touched, music swelled from an unseen source. Snape's head bobbed briefly, finding the tempo, then, as the music reached the end of its introduction, the two Heads of the rival Houses moved into a graceful, whirling waltz. Harry was stunned speechless to recognize Strauss's "Tales from the Vienna Wood" as the fanfare of trumpets and violins flooded over the barren ground, paused, and was joined by the sweet melody of flute and zither. At the end of the first passage, other couples moved out to join Snape and McGonagall, moving in and out of the shadows of the fire that leapt in time to the music. The precise, decisive movements, and the grace required suited them. What could be more surreal than watching a waltz performed on top of a crag in the Scottish wilderness, in the middle of the night, on Samhain?

By the time The Head of Gryffindor had come full circle around the blaze to the side where Harry stood watching, he had managed to figure out at least one part of what bothered him; every step of the dance, the slow rotation around the leaping bonfire, was being done in mirror image. Instead of leading off with his right foot, Snape's sure movements were to the left, and their progress around the circle widdershins. As the final note of a violin died away, he and McGonagall stepped apart, bowing and curtsying gravely to one another. They separated, Snape approaching Hermione with the same deliberate bow, and McGonagall striding up to a stunned Draco Malfoy. The other teachers did likewise, selecting sixth and seventh years from the loose circle of students so that when the next, unfamiliar piece of music began, the number of dancers had doubled. 

Harry was grateful that he got passed over. Dancing had never been his strong suit, and he wasn't sure that he could handle a backward waltz. Some of his younger classmates seemed to have the same problem, although he couldn't get the pleased, flushed features of Hermione out of his head. _She_ seemed to be genuinely enjoying having Snape's hand resting so familiarly on her waist. Ron had ended up pulled into the circle by Madame Pomfrey, or Harry would have _loved _to see his reaction to having his 'special friend' dancing so gracefully with the 'greasy git'. Speaking of friends, just where were Takashi and Tsuzuki? He had lost sight of the professors during the remembrance of the dead ritual. He looked around with some alarm, discovering that he had lost track of Kyo, and Hisoka, too, while he had been distracted. He hardly noticed when the second waltz ended, and more of his fellow students were drawn into the spiraling circle. Perhaps Kyo and Hisoka had already gotten pulled in. . .?

"Potter." Startled, Harry tore his gaze from the whirling crush of dancers. Malfoy, of all people, stood in front of him, eyeing him with distaste. "I'm not intent on asking you to dance, so please, put your eyes back into your head. I'm no more anxious to speak with you than you obviously are with me."

"Oh? Then why _are_ we talking?" Harry couldn't help it; one look at the other boy's pale features, and the retort just shot out. Malfoy's lips tightened.

"_Your_ Head of House told me to. To quote her exact words 'You and Potter must resolve your differences. I expect you to settle your grudge, rather than to carry it forward through Janus' Doorway."

"Oh." Harry was nonplussed. "McGon-, I mean Professor McGonagall said _that_? What about your Head, Snape?"

"Oh, he was quite a delight, as you can well imagine. He said 'I concur.' " Malfoy's sardonic drawl suddenly took on the Potion Master's deeper, velvety tones. A hand gestured elegantly, consigning both Heads to their respective purgatories. Harry snickered; Malfoy really had a knack for imitations. His version of Snape was spot on. "So. . .What do you say? Shall we oblige them and bury the hatchet somewhere besides one another's backs?"

Harry considered. Malfoy had again stuffed his hands negligently in his trouser pockets, and leaning back, stared down his nose at the Gryffindor. _No,_ Harry though with dawning amazement, the storm cloud eyes were peering at him _through_ ash-blond lashes with an odd mixture of nerves and revulsion. _He's afraid that I'll say 'No' _and then Harry found himself inexplicably saying "Okay. . ."

Malfoy quirked a brow at him and suddenly thrust out a hand. Harry started, and took the slender, proffered hand without thinking, his slightly larger, long-fingered grasp engulfing the other boy's. Numbly, he noted that Malfoy's fingers were reassuringly warm and _human_. They shook firmly, then both stepped back.

"Well. That went astonishingly well, Potter." Malfoy remarked. Something of his normally dry wit reasserted itself, and his pale lips quirked into a sardonic smirk.

"It did, Malfoy." Harry replied, a small grin lighting up his face. They stared at one another, discomfort growing, then the other boy turned away, hands again shoved into his pockets. He paused and remarked without looking back, "Ah, Potter, you might want a word with Crabbe. I gather he was there when your Japanese friend had his. . .episode, or whatever it was."

"Episode?" Harry repeated, bewildered.

"Oh, I'm not saying that Goyle did anything to him, mind you. Although he has been behaving a trifle dodgy of late. Just. . .that he might have seen or heard something of note."

"Oh." Harry stared at the ground for a moment. "Uh, Draco. . ." The pale boy stiffened at the familiar use of his name. "Thanks."

The taut shoulders relaxed perceptibly. "You're welcome. Harry." Then he was gone, melting into the swirling crowd.

                                                                 *********

Snape held the boy, Shiozaki, in his arms with a casual embrace; one that an observer would note as being appropriate between a professor and his student. His hand rested lightly on the boy's waist, the fingers barely brushing and the hand he held in his own was cool and relaxed. It had amused him to have the boy, Shiozaki, assume the female's role with no hesitation. No wonders then as to who exactly was the dominant partner in his and Matsumada's relationship.

All that and more he noted from the first few moments of the dance. But even then his black eyes noted the blank, yet calculating look Matsumada sent him as the guest professor danced with the Ravenclaw, Fitzhugh and the cold green glare of Kurosaki. He also noted that despite the easy grace which Shiozaki moved with, the back was rigid, the eyes as shuttered as opaque glass. Those eyes intrigued him. At times, when the boy had been found wondering in the hallways even, it seemed to glow white.

"Shiozaki," his voice a cool murmur that brushed over the boy's ear, fluttering the feathery hair. Shiozaki raised his eyes, tilting his head back a bit to better look at him. Even with the discomfort he felt in the boy's body (at their nearness? At holding another man but his precious Matsumada?), Shiozaki's smile came easily, the eyes half-lidded with pleasure from the intoxicating rhythm of the dance.

"Professor."

Snape felt his mouth curved into a smile; one that conveyed his own amusement and perhaps, some malice? He did enjoy a challenge and so far, despite his constant warning about the Japanese, they _were _a challenge. An intriguing puzzle. More so the boy he held in his arms.

"Tell me," he said smoothly, hand tightening around the boy's waist. "Have you been sleeping well?"

There was the barely perceptible tightening of the mouth, a stiffening of the spine and a bright glimmer in light blue eyes that could have been a reflection of the fire, or perhaps, a glimmer of fear instead.

"You were one of the professors who found me then, that night." It wasn't a question but Snape inclined his head anyway. "I thank you," Shiozaki continued. "And I'm sorry for causing you trouble."

"No trouble at all," Snape demurred. "In fact, I was greatly amused."

"Really?" A wealth of mockery lay buried beneath that simple word, reflected in the raised eyebrow. Shiozaki _knew _he was being baited but he didn't back away, even if he didn't pick up the thrown gauntlet. "I hope I wasn't drooling or anything as embarrassing as that," was his mild response. His back was practically a stiff board, his smile, growing more fixed. Snape felt elatement rising up; he had hit a mark, he knew it. But that elatement he kept hidden, the only sign perhaps the smile that grew more malicious. He loved and loathed enigmas. He wanted them solved, his world in order once again.

"No," Snape assured him. "But you _did _say some very interesting things."

"Did I?"

"Oh yes."

Shiozaki said no more, merely closing the space between them again, probably a subtle hint to let the subject drop. Snape was agreeable enough for that. He had gotten more clues in their little conversation. Not enough, but it was there.

The circle was tightening, the students who could dance already moving around the bonfire and those who couldn't, or wouldn't, staying far enough away that a passing professor could not snatch them up. Snape and Shiozaki were drawing closer to the huge bonfire, the flames licking the cold air hungrily. The fire was big enough, and the enchantments at the site, strong enough to keep the clearing deliciously warm and not overly so. The crackle, pop and heat of the fire were a welcoming beat to the music, a comforting beacon to the dancers. For a moment, Snape wondered wistfully at having that large a fire in his living room. It would certainly help with the cold.

Shiozaki though, didn't seem to appreciate the warmth or the light. He had turned his head to the fire the closer they got and Snape noted clinically that it was Shiozaki's hands tightening around him, the fingers they had clasped together nearly crushing his own in a sudden grip. Shiozaki stared into the fire as though mesmerized. As mesmerized as a mouse caught in the gaze of the hunting snake.

Was he. . . ?

"What's wrong?" he murmured silkily into the boy's ear. "Afraid the fire would burn you?"

That got a reaction when his early baiting did not. Shiozaki jerked to a stop, head whipping around to face him and Snape quickly got them out of the circle of dancers lest they were tripped over. It also brought them closer to the bonfire and he was rewarded with the sight of Shiozaki recoiling, his hands now mangling Snape's silk robes with a vengeance.

"Shiozaki?"

Shiozaki laughed. A bright, brittle laugh that held more fear in it than it did hilarity. Those clenched hands uncurled, releasing his robes. Shiozaki dropped his eyes, concentrating as he smoothened out Snape's robes. Satisfied that he had gotten the worst of the wrinkles out, Shiozaki raised his head again, staring straight into his own black eyes.

"Afraid that you're going to get burned?" Snape asked again.

Shiozaki took a step back. "I've already been burned," he smiled humourlessly. "I've been burned Professor. Many, many times."

_I've been caught too many times already._

Shiozaki bowed, his white, Japanese robes brushing the ground and he quickly slid through the dancers, leaving Snape staring after him. Shiozaki melted into the crowd around the fringes, his white robes a beacon in the dark night. His husband, Matsumada, now free of the Fitzhugh girl, detached himself from the crowd as well to trail after Shiozaki.

Snape looked around and saw that Kurosaki was staring at him. He felt his lips curl into a sneer but Kurosaki did nothing. He merely stared back, face blank, and he too went in the same direction that Shiozaki and Matsumada had taken. The sneer slipped off his face to be replaced with a dark scowl. His robes swishing around him, almost catching fire from the sparks, Snape stalked out of the circle, heading straight for Dumbledore who was mingling with some seventh year students who weren't dancing.

Puzzles and enigmas be damned. Snape had a feeling, a gut instinct, that screamed; this puzzle had better be solved fast. They were running out of time.

                                                       *********

It was way past midnight already, perhaps nearing three with the celebration reaching a bright, fevered pitch. The butterbeers, pumpkin juice and spiced cider was flowing freely, tingling in their blood and intoxicating their senses. Harry overheard a Hufflepuff drunkenly slur that the drinks were bewitched. That, or he couldn't hold his butterbeer.

Harry had quite enjoyed the party so far. Mingling around with Hermione and Ron never far from his side, Harry chatted with the rest of his year mates, the members of the now-defunct DA (they never got around to restarting it. . . .) and a few of the more socially inclined members of other Houses. Amanda Fitzhugh had appeared again, if only to chat pleasantly about the latest DADA homework and to discuss briefly with Hermione the advantages of a shield spell versus a kekkai.

Looking around after Amanda left to snag some pastries, Harry wondered idly where Kyo and Hisoka had gotten off to. The two of them, joined occasionally by Tsuzuki and Takashi, had stuck by him, never having to mingle for other people would invariably flock to them instead. But fifteen minutes earlier, Kyo had disappeared, along with Hisoka. Standing on tiptoes, he gave the crowd a quick survey and finally spotted Kyo by the fringes of the ward along with Takashi, heads bent close together in a private talk. Seeing his two friends occupied, Harry shrugged, resigning himself to more polite mingling.

As he was about to head for the refreshment table for more butterbeer, he heard an audible gasp, even above the noise of the crowd and somebody shouted, "Look!"

He turned quickly, expecting the worst; an attack maybe, but saw something else. The bonfire, which burned steadily through the night, had leapt taller, the flames almost rivaling the tall cypresses outside the wards.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Dumbledore had magically enchanted his voice again and the cheer was evident in his tone. "We're in for a treat. A sight that few mortals are privileged to witness. In a few moments, the Wild Hunt will pass directly overhead!"

The fire sparked, the colours changing from ruddy orange and yellow to a dazzling white that had everyone blinking back tears. There was an odd rushing noise that filled the crag, like an incoming wave and mixed in with it, was the drumming of hoof beats and the sound of hunting horns that sent a thrill of excitement down their backs.

"Everyone!" Dumbledore boomed. "Above us!"

Like a choreographed action, everyone's heads was turned skywards and the sight that greeted them caused a great commotion to break out; fingers were pointing, seventh years were exclaiming in delight and Harry stood silently amidst them , mouth open in awe and a very much intense fear.

"Oh, I _wish_ I had my pocket spotter's guide!" The sharp exclamation effectively cut through the brief but none-the-less real terror that had gripped Ron and Harry. Ron snorted and shot his friend a sharp glance. _Trust Hermione to turn the Wild Hunt into an outing of the Greater Cotswold Birding Society._ She was virtually hoping up and down in her enthusiasm.

Hermoine excitedly began naming the mythic figures in the stampeding horde overhead. "Oh, look, that older man with the gray hair and beard? Riding the strange horse with eight legs? That's Odin, on Sleipnir. The eight legs are a symbol of the eight winds. And that dark haired man with the antlers and the horn, is either Herne if he's from southern England, or Cernunnos. . ." She grabbed Ron's chin and forcibly swiveled his head to follow her pointing finger. The taller red-hair went _glurk__!?!_ but wasn't able to escape from her single-minded grasp. "And see the man who's missing his right hand? That's the god Tyr. He's the Norse god of thinking warriors, if you believe that there is such a thing. . .And that woman beside him, the beautiful one with black hair who keeps flickering into a skeleton? That's Hel, the Queen of the Dead who receives all those who don't die in battle. She and Tyr are the Winter Lord and Lady. . ."

The prickle of apprehension that Harry had felt at the sight of the aerial multitude verged on a full-blown panic at the sight of the eerie woman. As he watched, her form became something that a Dementor would be proud of; rotting flesh and yellowed bones visible through the rents in a moldering black shroud. Then she was again a regal, black haired woman clad in a long, divided tunic of black and silver worn over breeches that let her sit astride a powerful black horse. Coursing obediently alongside the horse's hooves were a company of massive hounds in red and silver gray, tongues lolling out of monstrous jaws. Harry trembled, knowing and dreading what followed close behind, but unable to tear his eyes away. And there, last of her pack, was the gigantic, shaggy black dog that he would know anywhere; Sirius.

Harry gave a choked sob, tearing his eyes away from the sight. "Gotta go. . ." he muttered thickly, plunging blindly through the mass of gawking students. He had never felt less like celebrating in his entire life. Sirius, that was Sirius up there, riding with the host of the dead, and damn it, it ought to be _him_, not his godfather. Not Sirius. He had no idea what it was that Hermione had called after him; something about how shockingly rude his manners were. And then Ron was laughing, telling her about the cups of punch from the refreshment table. Harry damned them both indiscriminately; he _wasn't_ drunk. He was dying inside, crying _Sirius!_ silently, without thought. He plunged through the crowd, wanting to run away.

A brilliant shimmer that made him throw instinctively throw up his arms shocked him awake. Without conscious direction, his feet had carried him through the magical barrier of the Four Quarters, and the wind was bitingly cold. Harry stopped, sucking in shuddering breaths as though he had forgotten temporarily that his body needed oxygen. And in a way, he had; his quick, shallow breaths were bringing him perilously close to hyperventilating. Weaving on his feet, Harry's gaze followed the magical course of the Hunt overhead. Had he really seen his godfather, following the Queen of the Dead? The shaggy animal form, loping along effortlessly on enormous feet, red tongue lolling out sprang into his mind, and Harry swore. He began running, following their course, heedless of the rough terrain that nearly sent him sprawling. His heart knew without a doubt that he had seen Sirius.

There was no path over the harsh ground, and this far from the bonfire; it was pitch black. Harry tripped and landed painfully on his right knee and outstretched hands. Hot, liquid agony when he picked himself up told him in no uncertain terms that his knee wasn't going to forgive and forget any time soon. He staggered, getting his bearings from the glittering river of stars overhead, and set off again. A thin line of trees, stripped bare by approaching winter blocked his way, slowing his progress. As it turned out, it was a good thing, too, because he had come to the edge of the world.

At the last second, Harry pulled back from the black abyss that appeared at his feet, arms wind-milling as he fought to save himself. He had reached the edge of the plateau. He couldn't go any farther. They were going to get away, and he would never see Sirius again. A harsh, broken cry burst from him, and for a second, he seriously considered jumping off the cliff.

From some distant point in his memory, Harry heard Hermione's voice, this time lecturing on Incantum Majoris, the idea that for every lesser spell, there existed a greater one. . .He threw out his wand hand, moving it without thought into a complex twist and strike, while shrieking "_Accio__ Majestre Instantadus Firebolt!_" He had a passing thought that this spell had probably been the death of his trunk, when his Firebolt came shooting at him. Harry staggered back, throwing a hand up to protect his face even as the summoned broom slammed to a halt a fraction of an inch from his stomach. He fumbled his wand back into his pocket, then he was kicking off from the sheer drop, letting the pull of gravity jump start what had to be the most insane launch into motion that he had ever attempted. By the time he heard the pounding of pursuit behind him, he was rising from the dive, lying flat out on the speeding broom.

"_Abyssus__ -_" 

"No! Severus, you must not!" Dumbledore tackled the younger wizard's wand arm, nearly dumping the both of them over the precipice. With a foul oath, Snape shook him off, regaining his stance. Between his pale face and wild eyes, the Headmaster feared that the man was too far gone to hear him, yet he truly did not want to stun him. 

His wand rose for the Stupefy charm as he spoke urgently, "Severus! Stop! Listen to me, my dear boy. I have no doubt that you are skilled enough to hit Harry even at this range, but at the speed at which he is flying, the fall will kill him." Snape's wand froze in position, then he did the unthinkable; swearing like a madman, he _threw_ his wand at the ground, whirling around in a frenzy. He snatched up a rock and hurled it in the direction of the vanished boy.

"Morgana's bastards, Albus! That thrice damned pet prodigy of yours has just gone in pursuit of the Wild Hunt! And you are concerned with something so trivial as killing him with a fall off his damned _broom_?!" His normally deep voice rose into a fearsome shriek on the last word, like a demented, hell-bound tea kettle about to boil over. Despite the innate humor of the image, Dumbledore flinched; there was certainly nothing humorous about a raging wizard who had mastered more of the Dark Arts, at a younger age, than any other living student of Hogwarts. The emphasis being on the 'living' portion of that statement, to be sure, for young Tom could scarcely be considered properly alive any more. Gingerly, the elder wizard placed a hand on his forearm, feeling the vibration of stress – both rage and fear induced – through the heavy fabric of his sleeve.

"Severus, make arrangements for your students to get safely home to Slytherin, once the party is over. By the time you are done, I will have summoned thestrals for us to ride; you know as well as I that they are the one creature that have both the will and strength to follow the Hunt. There are still several hours left until dawn. I hope that Harry will have worn himself out before then, but if not, that still gives us time to catch up to him." He kept his voice low and persuasive, conscious of the approaching footsteps of at least one other person. 

"I don't wish to sound a general alarm. The fewer who know at this point, the better." At the tall man's jerky nod, Dumbledore withdrew his hand, reaching instead for the discarded wand. "Here, my boy, I suspect you will want the use of this later." The older wizard pressed it into his nerveless hand and moved to intercept the approaching professors, saying "My word, wasn't that a magnificent sight? One doesn't often see the entire Hunt pass directly over head on Samhain. . .I think we shall have to celebrate with some of that delicious champagne. . ." His voice faded as he herded the others back toward the bonfire, leaving Snape behind. 

"Damn you, boy. What have you gotten yourself into, this time?" The exhausted wizard pressed the heels of his palms against his closed eyes until brilliant light blossomed in the darkness. Abruptly, he turned and strode in the direction of the leaping firelight. They had until dawn, when the Hunt would end at the entrance to the Hollow Hills, until Harry would die. It seemed a ridiculously short amount of time for what they had yet to do.

*****to be continued*****

**A/N: **And that ladies and gentlemen, was a **Librarycat**masterpiece. The only scene that was truly mine was of Snape and Kyo dancing. I then merely added in between to facilitate the flow of the story with the previous and upcoming chapters.

Didn't you just love the Samhain ritual? **Librarycat**told me of how they had a bonfire ritual of sorts as well in Europe, though I'm not clear on the full details. That would be fun, innit? Anyways, do get back to us on how you found this chapter (over 8500 words!) and dear me, I think I'll be giving you ANOTHER chapter before Monday! Cheers!


	18. Chapter 18:Samhain Part III

**Title: **When Death Comes a'Knocking

**Plot Mistresses: **Shiozaki, Shaynie, Literary Eagle, Librarycat

**Spell Researchers: **The talented, too-kind people of the Yahoo!Group, shadowsofthefox

**Warning: **Too many gods

**Scene Master: **Shiozaki and Librarycat

**Review Replies: (Read, dammit!) :P**

**Tenshiamanda****: **Gomen, gomen ^___^ Tsuzuki will make more of an appearance soon enough. . . .mwahahahaha!

**Kodomo**** Hikari: **I think this chapter will be delicious as well, if I do say so myself. Which I just did. Oh, please, can I beg you for something?? Please make Yuusuke use his youko appearance anytime somewhere in your **Chaos Chronicles**! I love his youko look!

**Riley Cat: **Maa, maa, of course I'll answer. ^____^ Glad to find a new reader and I'm so happy you love it! Question 1 then; Yes, Harry _will _end up with someone. The real question is whether it'll happen in this story or in the sequel (which we're tentatively planning for, yay!).

Question 2: Will Kyo get some lovin' with Takashi? My dear Riley-neko san, I wouldn't dare not to! Kyo just might kill me if I didn't! In fact, in the next chapter, you're going to see the consequence of what will happen when they can't be together!

Whew. Don't hesitate to ask more if the occasion comes up. I'm more than happy to answer! Read on then, stalwart reader!

**Penny: **Your wish is my command.

**Shaynie****, Clef's love, neji (thank you!), kuro-chan: **Your all too kind. Honestly. ^____^

**                                                               Chapter 18**

**                                                          Samhain Part III**

**                                                 Where angels fear to tread**

His Firebolt carried him through the freezing cold air like an arrow shot; swift and true. Here, miles above the hard ground, there was no tree, no opponent to make him swerve from his true course and Harry clung to it with grim determination he never knew he possessed; not when he believed his godfather to be in the hands of the Dark Lord, not when he was pitting his Quidditch skills against the only one he ever acknowledged as an equal Seeker, Draco Malfoy. This determination was born from pure emotion. Emotion called desperation that refused to let him, once again, to lose his godfather. He had lost the only family he ever had to death. This time, he will snatch his godfather from the hands of Death itself.

His robes whipped out behind him, the silk screaming in the wind, so fast did he flew. His eyes watered and stung and his hands gripped the broomstick handle hard, knuckles straining white. He didn't feel the cold that were vicious knife-points stabbing his extremities with malicious glee, staining the pale skin blue. The urgency that drove him didn't allow for such luxuries as a warming charm or wind repellant. All that mattered was that he did not lose sight of the shaggy black dog that coursed the night sky like a phantom. Harry could just make out the tail end of the Wild Hunt; ghostly greenish white shimmers that bled and disappeared into the black night, an ethereal mist that beckoned tantalizingly.

"Sirius!" he screamed and the name was lost to the wind and the freezing void. "_Sirius!_"

One minute he was flying through the night, chasing after the Hunt of the Gods, and the next thing he knew, he was in the _middle _of the Hunt. That wispy vapour of spirit light surrounded him, touching him and caressing him. Shocked by the sudden appearance, Harry braked his broomstick to an abrupt halt. He almost flew over the handle, the momentum being too great but at the last instant, he managed to stay on. Gasping, shivering with adrenalin, cold and fear, Harry clung grimly to the Firebolt and raised his head.

Faces.

Faces in the mist.

Strange faces. Beautiful faces. Ugly faces. 

Ethereal faces.

Faces of Gods.

_Oh, look, that older man with the gray hair and beard? Riding the strange horse with eight legs? That's Odin, on Sleipnir. The eight legs are a symbol of the eight winds. And that dark haired man with the antlers and the horn. . . ._

He was in the company of the Gods. The Hunting Gods.

"Sirius," he whispered, a broken echo of his scream.

One figure, seeming more solid than the mist yet at the same time, less substantial than a breath of cold air, strode forwards on a steed that towered majestically over all others. The Hunt had color, he noted dimly. Color like any normal person. The dark brown of leather, the gleaming silver of chainmail, the soft forest green of a tunic. But these colors were _more. _More vibrant than any colors dreamt of by man. That, and the wisps of spirits light trailing from each limb, each movement, flowing from their eyes like ghostly tears, attested to their otherworldliness. 

The stallion's wild mane streamed back in the winds, the nostrils flaring with eagerness and the gigantic hooves striking ghostly sparks on invisible ground. The stallion was even bigger than Madame Maxime's and Harry found himself straining his neck back trying to take in the whole picture.

And if the steed was huge, the rider was immense.

Legs that made Hagrid's look as thin as matchsticks, powerful legs that gripped the stallion's flanks with ease, led up to a muscled body beneath armour of chain mail and fur. The head was helmed, the iron pieces sweeping over the face like stylized wings yet Harry could clearly see the eyes that glowed deep in the darkness of the helm. They glowed the green white of the mist yet burned brighter than any fire he ever saw.

_//What is this? Who dares to command the Hunt and disrupt our pleasure?//_

The voice spoke not in his ear, but in his head and Harry jerked back in surprise, almost falling off his broom.

"I'm . ." he swallowed, his throat suddenly too dry. "I'm Harry Potter," he almost stammered but the clear light of amusement and contempt he saw in the faces swimming in the mist made him sit up straight and firm his voice. "I'm Harry Potter."

_//Harry Potter. Harry Potter. Harry Potter.//_

The voices repeated his name, saying it to themselves, to their companions, to their steeds, to their hounds. It was repeated in curiosity, in amusement, in mockery and in bland indifference. It raised Harry's hackles and his skin broke into goosebumps.

_//And what do you wish of the Hunt, Harry Potter?// _The helmed rider asked.

"My. . .my godfather," Harry swallowed again, his bravado gone like quicksilver when staring again into those gaslight eyes. "Your hound. The black dog. It's my godfather, isn't it? Sirius Black?"

The helmed rider reared in surprise and his steed snorted, stamping his hooves in an agitated staccato. _//__My black hound?__ Your godfather?//_

"He fell through the Veil of Death," Harry explained timidly. "And your hound looks just. . .like him."

Shock ran through the Wild Hunt, rippling the green white mist and silencing the mocking voices. Harry could just make out the black hound behind the legs of the helmed rider's steed, staring at him with no recognition in its eyes. But Harry knew that silky black fur, that canine grin, those long ears Sirius loved to scratch.

Wasn't it Sirius?

Without warning, the Hunt broke into a wild tumult. It startled Harry badly and he looked around frantically, wondering whether he was under attack. It took a while before he realised what that sound was.

The Hunt was laughing.

They were laughing _at _him.

_//His godfather!// _One voice shrieked out above the rest. //_He dares to question whether the great Llud's hound is his godfather!//_

_//A fool!//_

_//A mortal!//_

_//A mortal fool!//_

_//Fool!// _

_//Fool!//_

_//Fool!//_

The helmed rider had long ceased his laughter and a gesture of his gauntleted hand had the rest of the party falling silent save for the occasional titters. 

_//I do not Ride with mortal souls,// _the helmed rider, Llud, said. //_I rule death and the sun.__ For what reason would I Ride with mere, pitiful mortals when my brethren surrounds me?//_

"But—"

_//I do not Ride with mortals,// _Llud repeated. //_But I and my kin do find one pleasure with the pathetic creatures.// _The eyes glowed brighter.

Harry, with a sinking feeling deep in the pits of his stomach, knew he wasn't going to like the answer.

_//We find great pleasure in Hunting them.//_

And Harry found himself the target of swords, battle axes and the notched arrows of the Hunting Gods.

                                                      *************

As they waited for the mounts that would answer their call, Dumbledore took the opportunity to transfigure his robes into something more appropriate for horseback riding. A swish of the wand and his robes morphed into a dark shirt, vest and trousers tucked into his high boots. Snape only had to removes his outer robes to reveal his own shirt and trousers and properly attired, they waited in tense silence, Snape rebuffing the Headmaster's attempts to draw him out of his fuming.

"Alright, alright. We're coming."

"Are you sure about this?"

Dumbledore and Snape both perked up at the sound of coming voices and footsteps. Gripping their wands tightly, they waited for whomever it was to reveal themselves.

Branches creaked, twigs snapped and leaves rustled. Whoever their unwanted visitors would be, they were making no effort to mask their presence. And from the sound of it as well, they brought horses.

Snape's eyes widened. "Headmaster, the thestrals!" he hissed.

Four figures could be seen approaching them through the darkness. Four figures bathed in white amidst patches of deeper black that, judging by the size and they way they moved, could only be the mounts the Headmaster called.

Waiting for their approach, Dumbledore had to revise his earlier opinion. The Japanese didn't bring the thestrals. The _thestrals_brought the Japanese. At least, that's what it looked like from the way the thestrals were nudging the four along, always keeping them straight to the path leading to the two waiting professors. Two figures, only now noticed for they were dwarfed by the thestrals, trailed along the rear, completely ignored by the mounts as they stumbled haltingly behind the Japanese, casting uneasy glances around. Dumbledore recalled then that their added, unwelcome guests could not see the so-called harbinger of death.

_And, _Dumbledore noted to himself, _six thestrals answered the call, instead of the two I had wanted._

"Headmaster," there was a note of relief in Tsuzuki's voice when he saw them. "There you are. We've been looking all over for you. Have any of you seen Harry? Ron and Hermione are getting worried and we couldn't find him anywhere near the bonfire."

The four Japanese, as well as Ron and Hermione who were waiting nervously by the rear, waited for answer, concern and hope mingling in their faces. Realizing the grim countenance of the pair, the hope faded, leaving behind only the concern and adding on fear.

"Something happened to Harry." Shiozaki's tone was sharp, his eyes wide. He took a step forward, pinning them with his light blue stare. 

Dumbledore and Snape both exchanged significant glances. They knew that the Japanese had no hand in this latest fiasco. Harry had all too willingly followed the Hunt and the concern that the Japanese showed was real, that much they could tell. Snape shrugged, an infinitesimal gesture that said as eloquently as words, _it's your call._

"I'm afraid that young Mr. Potter has gotten himself into some trouble," Dumbledore said grimly. He gestured expansively to the starlit sky that was his backdrop. "He followed the Wild Hunt."

Silence rang through the clearing, the Japanese were visibly shocked. Ron gaped, sputtering in disbelief while Hermione chewed a lock of hair thoughtfully.

"He followed _what?_" Matsumada gasped. "That idiot!" And without waiting for confirmation, he grabbed the mane of the nearest horse and jumped astride. The other three quickly followed his lead, the odd full trousers of their robes not hampering their movements at all while the two remaining horses ambled over to the Headmaster and Snape. "What are you waiting for? Hurry!"

"Wait! We want to come too!" Ron shouted but he quickly shrank under Matsumada's furious glare.

"We are chasing after gods, Ron," he said sharply. "You won't be able to handle this. No, not even you Hermione. Go back to the celebration and make sure no one hears about what happened."

The both of them, Ron and Hermione, shot identical looks at the Headmaster. They were willing to ignore Matsumada if he would just give them the go-ahead. But Dumbledore had to agree with him. Death Eaters was one thing. Gods were an entirely different matter.

"Professor Matsumada is right," he said gravely and their faces fell. "Hurry back now."

"But—" Ron began.

"Mr. Weasley, _now_," Snape's scowl hinted that he had had about enough and the two wisely took the hint. Shooting frequent looks up to the sky above, they left, faces pale.

"Professors Matsumada, Tsuzuki," Dumbledore nodded, getting on his thestral nimbly. "I appreciate the help but Shiozaki and Kurosaki. . . .?"

"Can handle this," Tsuzuki interrupted. He gripped the mane of his thestral tightly, face drawn tight and his amethyst eyes glittered in the dark. 

"Enough with the arguments," Kurosaki cut in. He had his eyes trained to the horizon before them, staring fixedly at nothing but stars. "We're running out of time."

Without another word, only swift kicks to their thestrals sides, the four Japanese launched into the air, huge, membranous wings easily holding them aloft as their mounts quickly ascended. Snape and Dumbledore exchanged one last look and they too kicked off.

                                                                 ********

"The Potter boy isn't here."

He shifted in his crouch, impatience marring his every movement. Underneath the black cowl, he leveled a furious glare at the bringer of such disappointing news and the man before him quailed.

"I'm sorry, Craven, but I couldn't see him any—"

"Silence." Craven's tone was cold and his subordinate shrank even more. Craven, known only by that name to his 'colleagues' was a man who hated delays and obstacles. What he wanted, he wanted now. In this instance, he wanted the Potter boy. But the brat had the audacity to not be where he was supposed to; namely, getting foolishly drunk on good times and lulled into false security by the pitiful wards that doddering fool had created.

Craven's thin lips curled into a sneer. His good plan wasted! A simple lure and he would have the brat baited and caught neatly, ready to be presented to his master. And his master would not be pleased to have his present so delayed. Checking back a sigh, he dismissed his man to stand guard and they melted into the shadows, waiting for the contact to meet them and apprise them of the latest situation. For while Craven hated delays, he was cunning enough to roll with the dice. A worthy trait to have as a Death Eater.

Not that he had entered into such service for love of the Dark Lord. Craven had seen the winning side. It would be the side of power. And while all hailed Dumbledore as the champion of justice and the Potter brat as the Lord's downfall, he could see the truth. That Dumbledore was an old man. And that Potter, merely a foolish child.

So Craven waited and made plans.

Soon enough, he was rewarded with the rustle of leaves and branches snapping. A slight figure stumbled into the little clearing they had made, sides heaving with exhaustion. The intruder had on silken robes, a poor choice for tramping through the underbrush and the swearing attested to it. The build and high voice cursing as eloquently as a sailor was enough of an identification that the girl did not become the recipient of a curse. Lowering his wand, Craven stepped out of his hiding place as silently as the girl was not.

She had been looking behind her, annoyed at having her robes torn by a stubborn branch and didn't realize Craven's silent appearance. Turning back and seeing the sudden figure in black, she nearly let out a shriek.

Cold fingers clamped down her mouth, stifling her scream. 

"You idiot!" Craven hissed. "Do you want to bring down the entire school upon us?"

She shook her head frantically. Satisfied, he released her and she stumbled back, giving him a defiant glare.

"Fine way to treat someone with good news," she spat and Craven was amused. The little kitten wanting to be a tigress.

"And what, pray tell, would it be?" he drawled out. "Hurry now. The master wants his present."

"Potter isn't here," she began and he immediately cut her off.

"I know that," he said impatiently. "Tell me something I don't."

"Potter isn't here," she glared, "because he's chasing after the Wild Hunt."

Craven stilled, his eyes going blank as he calculated this unexpected news. "What idiocy is this?" he murmured to himself.

"Enough for us to get him," she retorted. "He's alone. That's all that matters. So are you going after him?"

Craven pursed his lips, fingers tapping idly against his thigh as he weighed his options. If they timed it right, they could intercept the boy in his harebrained chase before anyone realized that the brat is gone. And if so, they could perhaps minimize the chances of getting caught. And when else would he have such a fine opportunity as this, the boy away from the protection of Hogwarts?

"Very well," he smiled. "Return to the f—"

"I want to come as well."

He narrowed dark eyes and even with his face shadowed under the cowl, the girl trembled, but nevertheless, held firm her ground. "I want to follow," she repeated stubbornly. "This will be my chance to prove my worth to the Dark Lord."

"You're hardly dressed for it my dear."

"I've got my mask, robes and broomstick shrunk," she countered back.

"Indeed." He stared at her for a silent minute until she began fidgeting again. "Very well then," he said abruptly. "Try to keep up, won't you?"

He left in a swirl of black cloak and she hurried to catch up. As they made their way further from the celebration, the girl quickly changed into the black robes and white mask of a Death Eater. Even as she struggled with the heavy cotton, chance moonlight gleamed on a gold necklace swinging around her neck. A gold necklace with a name pendant.

Amanda Fitzhugh.

                                                              *********

The wind was cold and biting, especially so at the rate they were flying. The thestrals could sense the urgency of their mission and flew accordingly, the wings beating steadily and eating up the distance almost as fast as a Firebolt. Hunched over his horse's neck to reduce the air resistance, Kyo risked a look around. The thestrals were flying in a straight formation, the oddly matched group strung out on either side of him. Takashi was to his right and catching his eye, shot him a small smile of encouragement.

Kyo could only give back a sickly one. His guts were twisting in on themselves at the thought of what must be happening to Harry. Spirits they could banish or trap. Demons can be killed. But what can they do against immortal gods?

"Everyone."

At the unexpected voice, Kyo nearly fell off his mount, so startled was he. The voice was distinctly Dumbledore's and had sounded as though he was just by his ear. Looking around, his friends and partner had the same astonished look and he realized that of course, it must be a spell.

"I realise the futility of this venture," Dumbledore's voice was old but firm despite his negative observation. "There is not much we can do when we catch up with Harry except to distract the Hunt. If we can at least hold them off till dawn breaks, or maybe even reason with them, there's hope yet."

Kyo hoped that the spell was two-way. "Why dawn, sir?"

Apparently, it was a two-way spell. "Because the Hunt can only traverse the mortal world on the night of Samhain. When dawn comes, they must return to their realm through the Hollow Hills."

"So we have to herd them to these Hills?" Tsuzuki sounded a little exasperated. "And where could that be?"

"The Hills are where the gods are," Snape's silky tones answered. "It does not matter where we herd them, only that we keep that foolish boy out of their clutches."

Kyo narrowed his eyes at the insult to Harry but he bit back any retort. Mainly because he happened to agree with the professor. What, in the name of Enma's mercy, was Harry thinking?

"I see them!" Hisoka spoke up. Kyo raised himself as his mount slowed its flight to a steady hover, following the others. He saw Hisoka pointing down and he looked down as well. Just below them, he could make out the Hunt; a collection of ghostly white-green light that trailed behind like phosphorescence. Judging by the rate it was flowing, Kyo deduced that they were chasing after something. Something that could only be Harry as he made out the black hair streaming back in the wind and the dark green robes flapping in his swift flight.

"No time for talk then," Dumbledore grimly concluded. "We have to get Harry out of their way and distract the Hunt at the same time."

"I'll go get Harry," Takashi answered. He was looking over to Dumbledore despite the spell, wanting to emphasize his words. "I'm the best choice since the others would be better at the distraction."

The Headmaster only hesitated for a moment before nodding swiftly. "Very well. On the count of three then. One. . .two. . .three!"

                                                            **********

Harry flew like he never flew before. Diving, twisting, turning, he managed to put the Firebolt through paces and maneuvers that he was sure the designers of the broom had never imagined. The speed he was putting his broom through was incredible. Lying flat out on the handle, he could feel the wood vibrating with the stress. He could only pray that the enchantments would hold. Though, hold until what, he wasn't sure.

_//See how the little falcon flies, brother!//_

_//A worthy prey indeed!//_

Gritting his teeth, Harry tried to block his ears to the howls of the Hunt, filled with bloodlust and the joy of the chase. It amazed a distant part of his mind, how despite the shrieking wind he could still hear those mocking voices reverberating in his head.

Instinct kicked in then. He wasn't sure why he had to but he suddenly dove and not a moment too soon. Whistling by so close that he imagined he'd lost a few strands of hair, an arrow flew past him. Heart in mouth, Harry could only thank the incredible dumb luck that had dogged his every action these past years.

He spoke too soon it seemed. Something heavy crashed into the tail of his broom and Harry lost control. He spun around on a wild axis and he had the fleeting impression of laughing faces and wild-eyed steeds. It was all lost in a sickening blur though as he tried to hold on to his Firebolt and his dinner.

_I can't hold on any longer_. 

Just as that despairing thought crossed his mind, something else crashed into him only this time, that something did not let go. Crushed into what felt like a wall as his crazed spinning was brought to an abrupt halt, Harry tried to clear his dazed mind. He was flying still but not under his own power and his Firebolt nearly fell from his suddenly slack grip. He instinctively fumbled for it and managed to clutch it tight to his body.

"Harry! Are you alright?"

The wall had on white robes and the broom it rode turned out to be a thestral. Blinking back tears, Harry could make out auburn hair flying every which way, capping a grim face.

"Takashi?" he croaked out.

"Can you do something with your broom?" he gestured. "It's hampering our flight."

Harry nodded numbly. Together, they got Harry to maneuver himself in front of Takashi, straddling the horse gratefully as Takashi's strong arms encircled him and kept his steady. He dug into the inner pocket of his robes and withdrew his wand. Muttering a _reducio__, _ he shrunk his Firebolt to the size of a pencil and tucked it back in his pocket along with his wand.

"Hold on tight," Takashi spoke next to his ear and he gripped the horse's mane tightly. Without any visible command, their mount plunged down, wings tucked close to its body. They flew straight down, heading, as Harry saw, for the forest that stretched out beneath like a dark carpet that was quickly revealing startlingly sharp details; the black leaves of evergreen trees, the painfully sharp branches that he was sure they were going to crash into. . . 

Their mount bucked suddenly, screaming in pain. Raucous laughter told him that the poor beast had been shot and the faltering wing beats confirmed that. Takashi swore inelegantly and his grip became tighter. 

"We're not going to make it," Harry said, fear clogging his throat as the thestral valiantly tried to alter its course but failing to. With each flap of its wings, the horse was losing more and more blood, arrows lodged firmly in its flank.

"I'm sorry," Takashi ground out and for a minute there, Harry wondered why Takashi was apologizing to him. A moment later, he realized that it was the horse that he was saying sorry to. Sorry for having to abandon it.

"When I say, let go and just hold on to me, got it?"

Harry nodded dumbly.

"Now!"

Harry released his death clutch on the horse's mane and transferred his grip to Takashi. Takashi released his own grip as well from the horse and the unlucky beast finally succumbed to the pain of its wounds. Wings stilled a moment too long and with a scream that was too humanlike, it fell to its death.

Harry imagined that he and Takashi would be joining it soon as well. For he still had the Firebolt in his pocket and no time to unshrunk it. And together, he would bring Takashi to his own death as well.

_No. Not again. Please._

At least, a soothing voice belonging to whom he wasn't sure said distantly in a corner of his mind, at least this time you'll die with your mistake.

Harry shut his eyes and waited for the pain.

And waited. And waited. Nervously wondering if this was one of those moments where your last few seconds was said to stretch out, he opened his eyes cautiously, ready to close them again at the sight of needle sharp branches and unforgiving ground. He saw that alright. But instead of heading straight _for _it, they were flying _parallel _to it.

Harry blinked, wondering whether the panic of approaching death had caused hallucinations but despite repeated clenching and unclenching his eyes, what he saw did not change. They _were _flying. _Without a broom.___

Takashi had him cradled in his arms, holding him securely and the strange robes flapped around him, a wall of white that sheltered him somewhat from the bite of the wind. He recalled again his birthday when he found a Kyo who had been floating casually just outside his window. So it hadn't been a fevered dream then. They really can fly without the aid of a broom.

For the first time since he accepted Kyo's hand in friendship, Harry felt fear curdle his guts. These Japanese, assuming that Tsuzuki and Hisoka had the same powers as well, were far more powerful than any wizard he ever met. Or at least, able to do things that a wizard wouldn't normally be able to. This wasn't a matter of eastern or western magic. This was a matter of ability. And their ability frightened him.

Mouth dry from more from than the fear of the Hunting Gods, Harry wondered if he should try to escape now. But he had nowhere to go but down if he did. Maybe he could trick Takashi into landing? He twisted in Takashi's embrace, ready to tell a lie when his eyes met Takashi's concerned hazel-green ones.

"Harry? Are you okay?" the warmth of caring and protectiveness colored his words, added a spice like butterbeer to the hug. "I'm sorry, but we have to find a place to hide."

Any fear he felt drained away instantly. How could these people, who obviously cared so much for him, ever meant him harm? A wetness that had nothing to do with the cold stung his eyes as he ducked his head, shaking it. "No," he croaked out. "I'm okay." Distantly, he heard the joyous howls of the Hunt turn to dismay as they lost sight of their prey. He didn't know what caused it since Takashi's robes itself were like a beacon in the dark night but he felt relieved anyway.

"Good," the relief in Takashi's tone obvious. "But young man, believe me. When we get out of this little scrape, I _will _be giving you a piece of my mind."

Harry winced inwardly yet at the same time, felt the near uncontrollable urge to cry again. Because someone actually cared enough about him to threaten him with a good scolding for scaring them. For jeopardizing his safety. Just what a parent would do.

"I'm sorry," he said miserably.

A gentle squeeze as they descended slowly through the treetops into a little clearing surrounded on all sides by tall, stately oaks. Harry landed with hardly a bump but Takashi's arms did not loosen their hold. Rather, it tightened as Takashi tugged him closer to the most majestic in the circle of oaks. He said quietly to Harry, asking him to keep down and out of sight. Harry did so, never taking his eyes off Takashi who was looking about carefully. Apparently satisfied, Takashi brought his right hand to his mouth and in a gesture similar to what Kyo did in the first class of Defense Against the Dark Arts, he made a cut on a finger.

"Takashi?"

Takashi shook his head, couldn't, or wouldn't answer. Instead, with his bloodied finger, he started to trace symbols on the trunk of the oak he chose for them, swift figures that stained the bark a darker red amidst the gloom. The spell, it could only be such Harry reasoned, ran down the length of the trunk, ending just above the grass. Satisfied, Takashi crouched down beside him as well, uncaring how his white robes were stained with dirt and specks of blood.

"What was that for?" Harry whispered as Takashi enfolded him in another warm hug which he surrendered to gratefully. His silk robes offered poor protection against the cold night air whereas the _shikifuku_radiated Takashi's warmth.

"A spell of disillusionment and repelling," Takashi whispered back. "Oak is one of the bets groundings for a spell like this because of its strength and endurance. But we're not supposed to be having lessons are we?" Harry caught the fleeting glimpse of white teeth shown in a brief smile.

Harry was amazed. "Can that hide us from. . .them?" he swallowed, pointing vaguely at the sky above.

"Spells, no matter how strong they are, omnyoujitsu or western, cannot mask us from the gods," Takashi replied grimly. "This is to protect us from the Death Eaters. You didn't see them?"

Shocked, Harry shook his head numbly. "No," he said, his voice hoarse with added fear. Gods seemed an intangible thing compared to the very real threat of Death Eaters. At least, with deities, you're supposed to be able to beg or wheedle favours from. While Death Eaters. . .he doubted whether he could even borrow a Knut from them.

Takashi pressed warm lips against his cold forehead. The affectionate gesture was dry yet his skin tingled slightly from the contact. "It'll be okay," he said reassuringly. "Kyo and the others, Dumbledore and Snape even, will take care of everything."

Harry nodded but didn't reply. Huddled together for warmth and comfort, Harry and Takashi waited.

                                                           **********

Kyo never really thought of himself as particularly powerful. In fact, he readily admitted that Tsuzuki held that distinction with ease. The man's aura was a barely restrained tidal wave, scintillating in its complexity and depth. But what Kyo could admit to, if he actually bothered about it, was that his ability was unique. It wasn't the fact that he was an Elemental user. Those existed in the world, he knew that. But he had yet to hear of anyone who could control _all _of the Elements.

But since Kyo wasn't really the competitive sort (except when it came to basketball one-on-one with Takashi), he brushed aside that little fact as inconsequential. What did it matter that he could control Earth, Air, Fire _and _Water? What mattered to him was that he would always have Takashi by his side till they were old and gray (relatively speaking since they _are _dead) and that Heaven would just be another excuse to be with his life partner. But there were times when he was grateful for his ability. Times when he found loved ones to be in danger and his abilities could help.

This was one of those times.

His mount folded back its leathery wings and screamed a joyous battle cry filled with pure animal lust. He whooped in concerted excitement and released his hands from their grip on the coarse mane and together, let go of his shield.

Bright, pure power answered him. The Air was a canvas of sparkling colors that blinded the eye with its beauty, threads ready to be woven into fantastic shapes. The Earth below sang out a bell-toned greeting to one it recognized as having an affinity with it. Water, droplets of moisture in the Air, the lake that was sheltered by a touch his euphoric mind saw as a unicorn, trembled with eagerness, ripples and wavelets waiting for his call. Fire, despite his reluctance to wield it at the best of times, nevertheless warmed him with their readiness to answer his summons. The Elements saw past his self to the soul within and knew him as one worthy. Whatever hesitancy he might feel for one of their own, was embraced and still, they waited for him to command them.

His shields gone, Kyo was more than Kyo. He became a receptacle and a wielder. His very being thrummed with the power of the combined Elements and perhaps, for the briefest of instances, he forgot Takashi.

Air sang through his fingers and his mind. As though weaving a fabric only he could see, which, rightly, it was, Kyo gathered a handful of the glittering stuff that made up the volatile Element and his fingers danced a graceful and complex tune. The world was instantly an understandable picture. Here and there, bright dots of complex patterns made up the other Shinigami, Dumbledore and Snape, as well as Takashi and Harry. And if his friends and colleagues were dazzling fireflies amidst the backdrop that was the world, the gods were whole landscapes that tried to drown the mind with its brilliance and intricate shapes. Kyo winced, momentarily stunned as he tried to shy away from what may very likely drive him insane (no mortal could withstand the Immortals' presence fully and the only reason he didn't go crazy with that brief contact was due to his Shinigami status).

When he shied away from the gods, an anomaly caught his attention. There were six more fireflies than before. Eyes widening in alarm, Kyo called out and the Air showed him patterns that did not belong. Did not belong because these patterns were riddled with twisting, oily snakes of blackness that shot through their weave like a cancer.

Twisting in his seat, Kyo halted his thestral's flight down with a hard yank at the mane even as he called out to Dumbledore. His mount jerked to a hard stop, tossing its head in annoyance but Kyo ignored its displeasure.

"Professor!" and the only reason Dumbledore could hear him above the wind was the two-way spell and his influence over Air. "Death Eaters!"

The old man said a word which did not go with his usual mild countenance and Kyo chanced a brief, tight grin. No sooner than he gave the warning, bright lights exploded behind him as three of the Death Eaters engaged the Headmaster and Snape in battle. Hisoka saw the disadvantage in numbers and quickly made to right it. A wise choice as not only could he even the odds, it was foolhardy of him to engage the Hunt with his talents of empathy. Not when there were so many of them.

Looking back down, Kyo saw that Takashi had lost his mount and was flying under his own power with Harry cradled safely in his embrace.

_Damn_, Kyo thought, but with no real conviction. One more excuse they have to cook up for the too-sharp Dumbledore and Potions professor for revealing the power of a Shinigami. He knew, from various discussions with Harry and his friends that flying, for wizards, were limited strictly to broomsticks and the occasional hover charm. No wizard could properly fly with his own power and this just might prompt the Headmaster to a decision that could bode ill for their mission.

But that was for later. For now, they had gods to deal with.

"Kyo."

Tsuzuki had brought his mount to his side, sitting astride his horse with a casual ease that Kyo admired. His friend had that intense look in his strange eyes that made the amethyst burn hypnotizingly and his aura shone brighter than it ever did since they accepted this mission.

"Kyo!" This time, exasperation was evident in Tsuzuki's tone as he snapped his fingers within an inch of Kyo's nose. "Don't get lost now!"

Kyo shook his head, smiling apologetically. "Sorry. You're too pretty."

Tsuzuki was momentarily taken aback at that compliment but almost instantly realized what he meant. Kyo's eyes were glowing slightly, a phenomenon that he knew happened when Kyo engaged fully his mastery over the Elements. Rolling his eyes slightly, Tsuzuki gestured to the still-chasing gods. "I'm going to summon Byakko to stop them. I need you to erect a _kekkai_for the three of us because I want Byakko to concentrate on attacking if it comes to that. Sounds good?"

"No problem," Kyo nodded. "Ready?"

In answer, Takashi raised his hands high into the air. Power sizzled between them as he shouted, _"Bowing before you I present my wish, the twelve gods who protect me! Blade of air, steel of vacuum, bearing fang of silvery-white! Appear before me! Byakko!"_

The Air around them was charged with a luminescence not unlike that of the gods. Waves of undulating silver and white rippled through Tsuzuki's aura; his tie with his Shikigami allowing Byakko to open a doorway into this realm. With a thunderous crack that startled everyone within hearing distance, Byakko, in all of his glory, white mane flowing back in the wind, sharp fangs glistening in starlight, roared his entry into the mortal realm.

"Byakko! Stop them!" Tsuzuki shouted.

Giving another roar that seemed to shake the heavens and cause the very stars to tremble, Byakko bounded on an invisible pathway in the air. A giant leap and the enormous white tiger interposed himself between the Hunt and the fleeing prey. With his demigod status, Byakko knew better than to try an outright attack. But his loyalty and affection to Tsuzuki was just as strong and even if he didn't use his blast of pure ice, he growled menacingly when the Hunt, in collective amazement, demanded his removal from their path.

Kyo and Tsuzuki had followed closely behind the god of air and in position with them on either side of the tiger, Kyo folded his hands in prayer and a shimmering wall of wind and magic formed around them, a flimsy web against the might of an Immortal but it was better than nothing.

Shrieks of dismay and anger arose from the Hunt when not only a demigod not of this realm impeded their pleasure, more foolish mortals actually dared to take a stand against them!

_//What is this foolery?// _The leader of the Hunt, it looked like, a huge rider with an even bigger mount, clothed in ancient armour and helm, demanded. _//Has the world forgotten the power of the Old Gods that they actually dare to stand in our way?// _Immortal eyes narrowed as Llud, he who ruled Death and the Sun, finally realized that it was not mere mortals he was dealing with.

_//What is this?// _he said softly to himself yet his whole brethren heard. Curious with the oddness in his voice, the Hunt gathered closer together to the forefront, staring down at the white tiger that was little more than a kitten to them and two humans that trembled by its side.

Long silence, punctuated by cries and shrieks of pain from the battle that raged between Death Eaters and Dumbledore, Snape and Hisoka, fell over the Hunt. The ghostly vapour light swirled in and around them, touching the wind barrier curiously and dismissing it just as easily, filling the protected space inside. Kyo shivered where he waited upon his thestral, likewise echoed by Tsuzuki. Byakko crouched lower, an almost painful whimper rising up.

_//They are not mortals.//_

_//Indeed.//_

_//Most amusing.//_

_//Most, most, indeed.//_

Llud stared at them silently still, even as his kin surged and roiled around him, amusement clear in their faces and the Hunting Hounds panting in reflected eagerness. A sudden smile crossed that ageless face and as one, the Hunt stilled, eyes fixed on their leader instead.

_//Tuatha de Dannen//_ said Llud and without warning, he broke away from the Hunt, looping down and around Tsuzuki, Kyo and Byakko, heading straight to where he had last saw Takashi and Harry. Fear gripped them but Kyo and Tsuzuki knew better than to try and chase him. Instead, as the Hunt made to follow Llud, Kyo's voice rang out in a spell, the syllables sharp and jagged as needles and Byakko roared. The wall of air and ice that surrounded them flattened out till it was a half-sphere that blocked off the Hunt. They could move back but not forward. Enraged, amazed and more than astonished, Hel, the goddess who received those souls that did not get the glory of battle, pushed her way to the front.

Her form flickered from that of a regal, beautiful queen to a rotting skeleton.

Her shriek pierced the nadirs of heaven and struck both Kyo and Tsuzuki like the spears of judgment.

_//Servants of Death! How dare you!//_

                                                            **********

_"Adficio!"___

Immediately, the Death Eater slumped on his broomstick, wand clutched in suddenly nerveless fingers. Grimly, Snape raised his wand for another spell that would finish off his opponent. 

_"Anerriphtho Kubos!" _Like a boneless rag doll, the Death Eater, who it was, Snape wasn't sure, slid off his broomstick to what was surely a fatal fall. Satisfied, thinking that it was over, Snape allowed the victory of the moment to cloud his judgment and failed to note the hand that struggled to lift a wand even as its owner slid inexorably to a messy death far below. It was a croak of _Exsanguinus_that warned him and Snape twisted desperately aside.

It was either luck, his evasive maneuver or the man had poor aim to begin with. It wasn't Snape that received the curse that caused wounds to appear and blood to flow nonstop. It was his mount, the poor beast, that got it and with a shriek, the beast began to plummet from the sky.

Snape, still clinging to its back, had to curse the fates. Even though he managed to evade the curse, he was still going to die. He could not fly and Albus was too far away to help him. Even the Kurosaki brat was of no help, engaged in furious battle with a Death Eater twice his size.

_Right, I guess this is it then_, Snape thought dimly. _Fine way to go.__ I can just imagine my tombstone; 'He fell with a splat.'_

With a sort of morbid fascination, Snape watched the ground hurtle crazily through the air, meeting him and his dying mount in a promised impact that was sure to hurt. Oh wait, he was doing the hurtling, not the ground. Almost dizzy with nausea, Snape then did a very un-Snape thing; he closed his eyes and hoped that it would end very, very soon.

"Professor!" 

He was slammed into something that had the consistency of a brick wall and he fell off his horse. But the impact didn't hit him from under, but to his _side_. And that hard, yet strangely warm wall was still around him and he was _still flying, but sideways._

Chancing a peek, Snape caught light blue eyes that twinkled in short-lived amusement and a mop of black hair that was unlike Potter's.

"Shiozaki?" he sputtered. And he looked down to discover that yes, they were flying and no, there was no thestral doing the flying. Shiozaki was and by the looks of it, he was along for the ride.

*****To be continued*****

**A/N: **_Nyaaa__! How was it? The spells Adficio, Anerriphtho Kubos and Exsanguinus are courtesy of **Librarycat****.**_

****

**_Adficio_****_ - _**_to affect, afflict, weaken, sap, exhaust, drain. Spell: the subject becomes exhausted without any visible wounds._

****

**Anerriphtho**** Kubos** – _An action that cannot be undone; it is set. ( Also given in Latin as 'iacta alea est,' literally 'the die is cast.' Julius Caesar  referring to the fact that there would be no turning back upon crossing the Rubicon. According to Plutarch (Caesar 32), these words were actually in Greek as given above). In spell terms I was thinking that this might interfere with Finite Incantatum or possibly make a temporary effect permanent._

**_Exsanguinus_**_ – Cause to bleed out. Spell: Creates a free-flowing wound that cannot be stanched._

_~**Librarycat****~**_

****

**_P.S: _**_Did you like craven? Did you? Huh?_


	19. Chapter 19:Samhain Part IV

**Title: **When Death Comes a'Knocking

**Plot Mistresses: **Shiozaki, Shaynie, Literary Eagle, Librarycat

**Spell Researchers: **The talented, too-kind people of the Yahoo!Group, shadowsofthefox

**Warning: **Snape saying the 'F' word. And a cliffhanger 'cause I haven't tortured you people enough

**Scene Master: **Shiozaki and Librarycat

**Author's Notes: **I was made aware that a few people had no idea that Kyo and Takashi are actually Original Characters, not canon. ^___^ But I'm so happy that you guys liked it anyway. Though before we go on, for those who don't know or forgotten, I must remind everyone of a few facts:

**_Enma's_****_ Death Seal_**

****

Kyo and Takashi, at the end of the Kojiki Trilogy, had certain parts of their memories sealed with Enma's Death Seal. This seal prevents them from ever remembering what happened, concerning certain individuals and a god or two (I'm trying not to spoil the Trilogy here) The other Shinigami; Tsuzuki, Hisoka & Co., were also given a Death Seal in that they would never be able to tell anyone, especially Kyo and Takashi, of what happened as well.

Why am I repeating this? Because starting from this chapter onwards, this little fact will play quite a big part in the story.

**Review Replies:**

**Daemonchan****: **Ohohohoho, so you think the cat's out of the bag? Hehehehe, read _this _chapter first. We still have tons of surprises in store!

**Kodomo**** Hikari: **Ah, you're too evil! Hurry up already with that chapter then! Though, if they destroy Hogwarts, who'll pay for the damages? Hehe! And damn it, the image of Youkai-Kurama vs. Yue is just too pretty!

**Penny: **Thanks for the cake! I am rather hungry.

**Jasper tears: **No flame taken ^__^  Actually, I have no idea who's Bleach so yeah, coincidence. And I find it fun to cross-reference other anime/manga. Makes the ficworld a little more colorful, though of course, this is a Yami-centric fic, no worries. I know what you mean about my work improving from the old ones. When I read back my old stories I'm like, "What was I thinking?!"

**Nightwings****: **Believe me, I was in a rather weird mood myself when I said to watch out for all the gods flying around!

**MysteryKid****: **Wow, you finished the trilogy in under two days? Good for you! Haha, it's never too late for you to find my stories *see ego swell*. Yeah, I am from Malaysia. How'd you guess? Are you from around here as well? Looking forward to hearing from you often!

**Tenshiamanda****, Shichi: **Domo!

**Babbling Brook42: ***Blushes* Your well-articulated praise had me all giggly when I read it. I'm more than happy that you've agreed with the balance I'm trying to achieve between two totally separate works of fiction. Honestly? I really have to thank **LibraryCat**for the providing the exquisite details of Western magic and the Potterverse, as well as helping me flesh out the story. **Shaynie**and **Literary Eagle **were in this from the start as well. So whew! It sure wasn't a one-girl effort ^____^ Hope you enjoy my other works as well. In fact, I'm definitely going to be editing and rewriting my old works. Watch out for an actual, bound version of the Kojiki Trilogy!

**Gentleman: **_Your _magnanimous praise left _me _humbled. I can only hope you'll continue enjoying my work, even future ones.

**Yanagi****-san, Kiki neesan: **Thank you for taking the time to give my story a try and I'm honoured that you liked Kyo and Takashi. They feel very honoured as well ^___^

**Quatre**** Winner: **Haha. . .er. . .threats are fairly common to me. . .*twitches* And yes, Takashi and Kyo are OCs. . .you're not going to stop reading are you? *sob* I hope not. . .and er, you might want to check out the **Kojiki**** Trilogy **or at least ask anyone who's read it about what happened there, because from here on, it will greatly impact the story. Yup. You're still reading right?

**Riley Cat: **You're too kind ^___^. Yes, Harry will be with someone, though whether it's going to happen here or the tentatively planned sequel is unsure. And all the clues are leading straight to Ginny. Hope you're a HxG shipper? As to whether Kyo and Takashi will adopt Harry. . .ah, you might want to finish this chapter first. . .

**Kael****: **One anti-withdrawal shot coming up! I update this story weekly, just so you know so I hope your withdrawals won't be too bad! ^___^

**Sakusha****-san: **Ne, you promised me a Kyo and Takashi plushie for ages. . . .and I'm afraid I don't know any good latin-english translators. . .all my latin spells come from **LibraryCat****, Literary Eagle **and various other people.

**                                                                  Chapter 19**

**                                                             Samhain Part IV**

**                                                                     Mercy**

"Merlin's _fucking _beard."

The body he held in his arms, out of necessity, as tightly as a lover's, trembled minutely with laughter; the sound soft and surprisingly pleasant as it ghosted his ear.

"Language, professor," he was admonished. The wind wasn't so loud that he couldn't hear that distinct amusement in Shiozaki's voice. The boy's arms tightened around him, pressing them even closer together till he could feel every line of Shiozaki's body even under the layers of robes. Shiozaki's was all smooth planes and angles, lithe and supple, and Snape had to stop himself from consciously tightening his own hold, not out of need for fear of his safety, but for sudden, fierce desire to do so.

The two of them were in a parody of a hug, mid-air, and Snape could only imagine how ridiculous it looked liked, no matter how comfortable he was in the embrace. As such, he could not see Shiozaki's face but he turned his head enough so that he could speak directly into his ear. Perhaps because of habit, perhaps because he wanted to test the boy's reaction, Snape allowed his voice to drop to a low, smooth tone, bringing to mind of silken sheets and burning candles.

"Tell me, Shiozaki," he said, mouth close to the boy's pale shell of an ear, "Is this a normal occurrence?"

He was rewarded with a minute shudder that racked the boy's frame. But Shiozaki did not answer him, merely increasing their speed till the wind was a whistling, shrieking devil that defied conversation. Looking down over the boy's shoulder, he could make out the black carpet that was the forest which covered the grounds beyond the Hogwarts' borders. Here and there, the monotony of black was interspersed with bright glimmers that told of a river or stream and a lake.

They were flying through crystal clear air that rendered everything in vivid shades of nighttime colors. Up here, unhindered by the limitations of gravity or even broomstick, nothing holding him up save for the strange ability of the Japanese, Snape felt exhilaration boiling his blood, intoxicating his senses and sharpening them beyond any potion could achieve.  And the flight would have been even more pleasant, fun even, if he wasn't in danger of dying of cold or the fact that no normal wizard could do what this Japanese was doing. That, and the sudden appearance of ghostly greenish white light that could mean only one thing.

"They've found us," he said tersely and he felt Shiozaki's body tensing up as well.

"Can I trust you to help with the distraction, professor?" Shiozaki said suddenly. "I can hardly do that and keep the both of us going at the same time."

Snape nodded, wand still clutched tightly in his hand. "I can do that, if you can keep up your part."

Again, he was given that low laughter that oddly made him smile as well. Thank Merlin Shiozaki could not see his face.

But any sort of amusement he felt died away when the spiritlight became more distinct as a part of the Hunt quickly caught up to them. He could make out several riders, hooting and howling with joy at spotting their prey. He saw one raising a bow to his shoulder, an arrow appearing out of thin air, notched and ready.

"Shiozaki! Down!"

The instant the arrow flew, Snape felt his stomach try to take up new residence in his throat as they suddenly plummeted in a steep dive that would have made Wronski slunk away in shame should he saw it. They were practically flying upside down and vertical and Snape had to reorient himself after that initial rush of blood to the head. That arrow had flown harmlessly past but if anything, it amused the Hunt as the howling turned to raucous laughter. The steeds turned directions as well, following them easily and again, arrows were notched.

Snape brought his wand hand up and shouted. Spells flew in quick succession, each different and deadly but he might as well have tried a tickling harm for all the good it didn't do. The bright jets of light merely shot through the gods and steeds alike. Before he could curse at their predicament, Shiozaki gave his shoulder one brief squeeze. A warning.

And from flying vertical, they were horizontal again, this time after plunging through a break in the forest's canopy. Shiozaki flew low, easily dodging aside trees and branches deftly, with a grace that Potter might have envied. Snape clenched his teeth, all too aware that he himself could not see where they were going and would probably end up with a branch or a tree even knocking him silly. But his fears was unfounded as they coasted gently to a stop, no harm done save for the leftover adrenalin from the wild flight.

Shiozaki released him and Snape managed to stop himself from stumbling on unsteady legs at the feel of firm ground once again underneath him. Shiozaki though, wasn't doing much better. He was bent over, hands on knees and wheezing.

"Are you alright?" Snape asked gruffly, keeping an eye out for an approaching god or Death Eater.

"Not. . .used to. . " Shiozaki wheezed out, "Taking someone a. . .long."

Snape had to suppress a surprising start of guilt. Of course, despite being able to fly under his own power, Shiozaki was still a young boy, or man, who had to support the weight of a full-grown adult. Snape, despite looking gaunt even on the best of days, had the body of a fighter; trim and fit, and it had worn the boy out.

"Well," he grasped Shiozaki's upper arm in a slightly more gentle grip than he would have normally used and tugged him along. "We better keep moving if we don't want to get caught." Shiozaki followed him unresistingly, slowly getting his breath back. Together, they made their way deeper into the forest until the darkness swallowed them, white robes and all.

                                                        ********** 

"Fucking Potter."

A tense minute filled in between, punctuated by branches rudely pushed aside, dead leaves and twigs carelessly snapped underfoot and heavy feet tramping through the underbrush.

"_Fucking _Potter. And fuck Dumbledore as well."

Craven was _not _in a good mood.

He hadn't expected the attack to go their way from the start, but he had expected _some _sort of ease in getting the brat. What he had not expected also was for the Hunt themselves. Frankly, the gods were screwing up his plans nicely. Sure, the Immortal Hunt was providing a good enough distraction, attacking the Hogwarts' professors and the Japanese but when he himself was attacked. . . .

"Fucking gods."

They themselves barely managed to get away from three, laughing, hooting, mounted riders who complained in surreal voices that their prey were too tame. But who was he to complain? Craven and Meeks, a bumbling idiot whom Craven despaired of ever turning into a proper Death Eater by the sheer fact of his clumsiness, had landed as near as possible to where he lasts aw the Potter boy and the Japanese that had rescued him. Thinking of the Asian, Craven narrowed pale yellow eyes. The Master would be most intrigued to hear of this latest ability that the Japanese showed; the power of flight.

The forest, unnamed as no one had ever bothered to explore it, was eerily quiet. There wasn't a hint of any nighttime creatures about, not even a lonely owl hoot to pierce the silence. Craven ignored the uneasiness that anomaly engendered; hell, he was already cursing himself for taking this risk. The gods were proving to be more trouble than he had accounted for. They were nearing a circle of twelve oaks, the trees tall, majestic and forbidding. The guardians ringed a little clearing which was darkened by night's shadows. Craven paused, not even acknowledging Meeks who stumbled into him and quickly apologised. He was pretty sure that this was roughly the area where Potter and his rescuer had landed. . . .but, he shrugged his shoulders dismissively, he doubted that they had stayed.

Craven did not think it was odd, how easily he dismissed the circle of oaks, or the area around it. Nor did he think it odd how the shadows were perhaps, a little _too _deep, a little _too _dark. He was about to turn north, figuring that that direction was as good as any, Meeks following closely behind.

He had taken no more than a few steps when a horse's whinny shattered the quiet and the brazen blast of a hunting horn froze his innards, his wand nothing more than a sliver of useless wood clutched in nerveless fingers.

With slow majesty, an immense figure cloaked in spiritlight descended from the treetops, the steed it was mounted upon ignoring such obstacles as branches or leaves as if the trees were the spirits, rather than itself and its rider. When those larger than life hooves touched the forest floor as gentle as a breath, a sound like breaking glass reached Craven's ears and he jumped, startled out of his sudden numbness. There, in the clearing he had all but ignored, where previously there had been nothing but shadows and shadows' shadows, was Potter and the Japanese.

But Craven made no move to capture the brat. He didn't even raise his wand.

Because before him was Llud and that ancient god smiled a cruel smile of victory. The smile of a predator that had cornered its prey.

Craven whispered, "Merlin help us."

                                                            ************

There was a brief moment between the spell breaking and the instant of discovery. Harry crouched, still in Takashi's warm embrace and he was caught in that position; fear screaming at him to run, run as fast as he can while fear also screamed at him to stay, to not move a muscle because if you don't move, he won't see you.

_//There's nowhere to left to run.//_

Llud's voice, the voice of a god, snapped him out of his paralysis. But before he could act on either of those two fears pulling and tugging him in two different directions, before he could even twitch a finger, Takashi surged forwards and Harry, blinking stupidly, found himself face down on the forest floor. Takashi cowering over him protectively.

"My Lord," Takashi rasped, ignoring the two Death Eaters who were as yet frozen outside the circle. "Forgive us."

_//What is there to forgive?// _Llud was amused. _//This is the night of the Hunt and truly, I have caught such magnificent prey. Give him to me, Servant, and I might overlook this transgression.//_

Under Takashi, Harry's eyes, if it was possible, widened even more. _A servant?__ Why did he call Takashi that?_

Pressed so close to the ground, Harry inhaled the sharp sweet scent of decaying leaves and cold earth. He could also feel Takashi trembling violently yet the man made no move to give him up as the god suggested, nor was he left to face this alone. Instead, Takashi pressed himself closer, so close that Harry nearly had trouble breathing, sandwiched as he was between Takashi and the hard ground. But he made no sound save for a grateful whimper when Takashi laid a trembling hand on his head. With that contact, a minimal amount of peace enveloped him, stopping Harry at the precipice of the dark chasm that was mounting hysteria.

Questions, Harry decided then, could be asked later.

"My Lord, I wish no more than to obey you but please, I beg leniency." Takashi's hand on his head curled into a tight fist, the grip almost painful as his hair tangled in Takashi's fingers. "My own I must obey and this young one _must _live. He has a destiny to fulfill. You can see this in your eternal wisdom my Lord. Please, spare us."

A long moment fell, silent and tense. The air became colder somehow, heavier, as though the earth itself waited in breathless anticipation for Llud's answer to Takashi's impassioned plea. Harry was peripherally aware of the Death Eaters' harsh gasping, echoed in less by his own and Takashi's.

Risking a glance, Harry was startled to find his gaze locked with that of Llud's. He had an impression of a million billion stars and more in those fathomless eyes. Stars that lived and died within the span of nanoseconds. Harry saw eternity as nothing more than the blink of an eye and he whimpered again, this time in gut-wrenching fear.

Llud's face broke into a smile. How Harry knew this, he wasn't sure. The god's face was featureless save for those lamplight eyes under the shadow of the helm. But deep inside, Harry _knew _Llud was smiling.

The Immortal made a negligent gesture with his gauntleted hand, a gesture that encompassed them all. _//And if I spare you and the boy? What of my Hunt? Should it be for naught?//_

Takashi did not answer.

But instead of meeting that silence with anger, Llud laughed. And that laughter was the sound of a thousand nails screeching across a blackboard, of glass shattering into a million pieces. Harry winced and waited for what must surely be his death.

_//Very well then.__ I'll take _him _as compensation.//_

Two screams erupted, sudden and shrill in the cold night air. The screams mingled and bled into one another till it was one mindless voice, a paean of fear and horror that curdled the insides and made you want to dive under the covers if you had any.

Harry dared himself to peer up from beneath Takashi to see a Death Eater impaled upon a long spear while the other stood transfixed, gaping in shock. But as Llud's helmed face turned slowly to regard that surviving Death Eater, even as his unfortunate companion slump bonelessly only to be held upright with casual ease by that spear skewering his body, a whimper was heard. With a crack like a gunshot, the lone surviving Death Eater apparated away.

_//I was wondering how long it'll take him to remember how to do that,// _Llud said casually. _//Silly mortal.//_

                                                          ***********

When dawn broke, an aurora borealis unlike no other burst into life. The colors that bled and shimmered and swirled seemed determined to outdo the rising sun in glory and magnificence. Within the spectacular light show itself, a form emerged. Hazy and indistinct, it slowly sharpened into focus like a picture developing. A low range of hills, at first burnt golden yellow with the colors of autumns, then the jewel green of spring, and a golden door, seeming at once as infinitely large as the sky, yet no bigger than  a handspan, could be seen in the middle of those magical hills.

The door, with the rising of the sun, opened to emit brilliant light that rivaled even the aurora and with that light, the Wild Hunt once again returned to their realm, bearing the spoils of this night's Hunt, shouting with raucous laughter even as a goddess in black screamed her fury of the disobedience of servants.

The mortals left alive gathered together where the trees thinned and the sunlight glinted off icicles that defied the season.

Dumbledore, Hisoka and Tsuzuki waited together as four others were revealed by the mist that started to lift off the ground. Takashi was supporting Harry, the young boy leaning heavily against him while Kyo and Snape joined them silently. Their shoulders fairly drooped with weariness and when Kyo stumbled, Snape gave him a hand. 

Such a sight would have made anyone gape in astonishment, if they weren't feeling as worn out as those two were. The group faced each other silently, Harry keeping his eyes on the ground and refusing to let go of the bit of Takashi's robes that he clutched in childlike fingers.

Kyo was the first to break the silence.

"The Death Eaters?"

"3 dead," Dumbledore answered him in a clipped voice. The old man's eyes were a hard blue glacier that seemed to reflect back the light.

"Another one taken away, and one escaped," Takashi picked up.

Kyo waited, looking around expectantly but no one else spoke up. "The other one?"

Dumbledore frowned. "What other one?"

"I sensed six Death Eaters. So far, we've only accounted for five."

Snape cursed softly under his breath. "Damn. That means it's either a spy at the school or he or she has already returned to the Dark Lord."

They exchanged uneasy glances at that but not even Dumbledore could offer any words of comfort. Instead, he sighed, looking around, perhaps seeing through the lightening mist to the bodies that have yet to be recovered.

"You and Kurosaki fought well, Professor Tsuzuki," he at last said. "In fact, Kurosaki here saved my life."

"I did what I had to," Hisoka replied tonelessly. At that, Harry's bowed head snapped up and he fixed Hisoka a wide, green-eyed stare.

"Y-you killed. . .someone?" He faltered as Hisoka's hard gaze did not relent.

"And what would you have me do Harry?" Hisoka asked, his own eyes staring straight into Harry's, unblinking. "Let them kill the Headmaster instead? People have died tonight and it was a necessity."

Even the Headmaster looked rather taken aback by Hisoka's plain words but he did nothing to contradict him. Harry looked back and forth between Dumbledore and Hisoka, opening his mouth a few times but nothing came out. He let his eyes drop and mumbled, "I'm sorry. . .I wasn't thinking and. ."

"You're damn right you weren't thinking."

Harry was again shocked. He had expected some sort of reprimand from the Headmaster, at the very least Professor Snape, but it was Kyo who had rounded on him. And it was Kyo who was staring down at him with ice cold eyes that snapped furiously with blue fire, anger coloring his tone.

"Just how stupid can you get?! You were chasing after _gods _Harry! And you're damn lucky that we were around to help you! What were you thinking?! Did you want to die?!"

Still looking at his damp shoes, fingers slacking their hold on Takashi's robes, Harry answered. "I thought I saw Sirius."

Dead silence rang through the group and strangely, Harry felt compelled to fill that void and his words spilled out in a rush as though a damn had broken somewhere inside him and he didn't know how to stop it. He didn't know how to stop himself from telling them of the grief and anger that had made him do what he did. He told it all straight to Kyo's blue eyes which slowly dimmed their fire till it was nothing more but a tired blaze.

"I saw the black dog and it had to be Sirius. It had to be! It was my fault he was dead in the first place. I tried telling myself that it was Snape's, that it was the headmaster's fault, but it's all really mine!" Harry screamed, finally succumbing to the hysteria that had threatened the whole night long.

"He came that night because of me! I should have practiced my Occlumency harder but I didn't! I should have listened to Hermione but I didn't! The black dog has to be Sirius but now he's gone again and it's _all my__ fault!_"

The rush of words, the torrent that had broken loose was dammed suddenly as he was crushed in a warm grip of white robes and the scent of peaches. He fought against that hug that offered him comfort and salvation. He didn't deserve it. He was a murderer. He _shouldn't _be held like this. Fists, weakened and small, beat uselessly against a strong shoulder that refused to give way. He cried out, wanting to be let go and wanting desperately to continue to be held and never let go. He screamed, he fought, he kicked but everything he did only caused the grip to tighten until he was sobbing harshly, staining the white robes with his tears and his half-whimpers that he could no longer articulate.

Slowly, he was aware of a hand stroking his hair gently and a voice that murmured over and over again, "It's okay, it's going to be alright."

He didn't know how long he was like that but by the time Kyo moved, he was fully in the relentless hold of a lethargy that deadened his limbs. From Kyo, he was bundled into the arms of someone who smelled like peppermints and lemon drops mixed together and of clean wool and delicious warmth. Dumbledore tilted his chin up gently, old, tired eyes shadowed with soft sorrow.

"My dear boy, what have I done to you?"

He could only stare back with dull green eyes as an errant tear slipped free to splash on a gnarled hand that wiped his cheek gently of such residue. Another hand settled on his forehead, directly above his strangely hot scar and the hint of black at the edge of his vision, and the smell of cloves told him clearer than sight that it was the Potions Master. He felt too tired to move from that touch and strangely enough, the hand was a warm, comfortable weight.

_Sleep. _

That command rang in his mind, reminiscent of nights spent in a cold dungeon with a black eyed man and a stone bowl etched with runes. It brought to mind that and more but none of the anger, hatred or fear it was usually associated with. Instead, there was peace offered this time and gladly, he reached out for it.

_Sleep._

                                               **********

Snape held the Headmaster's gaze in his, black eyes strangely flat and opaque, more so than usual. "Do you think the boy was right? That it was his godfather?"

Dumbledore sighed heavily, shifting so that he could carry Harry better in his arms. "I do not know, Severus. He may be right, it's hard to say. How do you investigate gods after all?"

"Headmaster?" 

Dumbledore half-turned, Harry a dead weight in his arms yet he showed no strain in carrying it. The wiry old frame he possessed belied a strength that was more than just magic. "Yes, Professor Tsuzuki?"

Tsuzuki shifted on his feet, clearly uncomfortable but went on anyway. "I'm sorry but may I and my friends have a few minutes together? We need to discuss something in private."

Dumbledore stared at him for a long minute, eyes searching and assessing what he found. Tsuzuki held that stare, aware as he was that the Headmaster's permission depended on what he would find. Finally, Dumbledore nodded once, his expression still grave.

"For what you have done for Harry and us last night, I'll grant you this. But we _will _have a talk afterwards."

Tsuzuki bowed in answer, mimicked by the others as well and with a final nod, Dumbledore apparated, taking Harry with him and Snape following close behind. But not without one last, undecipherable look at the Japanese.

"Thank Enma it's over," Takashi sighed heavily and dropped down on the grass. Kyo joined him as well with his own bone weary sigh and he leaned against his partner, both relishing in that contact. However, Hisoka and Tsuzuki kept standing, exchanging dark looks that did not go unnoticed by Kyo and Takashi.

"What?" Kyo asked warily. "Is there something else going on?"

Hisoka refused to look at him, preferring instead to stare at his chest. "I think we made a mistake."

"What mistake?" Takashi asked, clearly confused. "You think it's a mistake asking for Dumbledore's permission for this talk? You know we wouldn't have been able to otherwise."

"No, it's not that," Tsuzuki started, hands making half-formed gestures that indicated his helplessness. "It's just. . ."

"We shouldn't have saved Harry."

That morning was made for shocked silences. Kyo and Takashi stared at Hisoka, unable to believe that they actually heard what he had said.

"Excuse me?" Kyo asked faintly. "Did you. . ."

"We shouldn't have saved him" Hisoka repeated and this time, he met Kyo's eyes which were slowly widening. "Did you realize that we went against _gods?_"

"But not ours," Takashi rebutted sharply, quickly getting to his feet and followed likewise by Kyo. The younger partner appeared to be too shocked to say anything just yet. "They weren't our gods. Enma is. And he gave us our orders."

"And who's to say that last night wasn't what he meant?" Hisoka answered. He kept his voice calm and not a little too cold. His face was void of any expression that might actually betray the grief he himself felt at uttering the words he knew that his close friends would not want to hear. But he was first, and foremost, a Shinigami. They were all Shinigami and they had a mission to accomplish. But Enma save him from the anger and disbelief that was slowly clouding his friends' faces. And may Enma damn him for saying it anyway.

"Harry could have died last night. And maybe he was supposed to."

_"How dare you!" _The shock that kept him silent finally broke and Kyo strode forwards until he and Hisoka were practically toe to toe. He towered over the smaller boy who refused to give way. Takashi stared disbelievingly at Hisoka, unable to actually accept that one of the most sensitive people he ever knew was callously berating them for letting a boy live. It went against everything that made Hisoka the man he is. And it was that thought that checked his rising anger. His eyes widened with realization and sick horror. Horror at what Hisoka was putting himself through and it tempered his need to howl his fury at the heavens; that one so burdened as Harry should deserve such a fate.

"How can you say that?!" Kyo screamed. His was rage was a palpable thing; the wind picked up, a miniature tornado of whirling leaves and twigs that uprooted bushes and caused solid oaks to groan. Only the area around the Shinigami were relatively clear but Takashi feared it wouldn't be for too long. He tried to pull Kyo back from Hisoka but his partner practically threw him off, only to scream again.

"He's just a child!"

"Who may very well suppose to die!" Hisoka shouted back. His small fists were held tightly to his side as though he feared he might do something worse if he didn't. Tsuzuki didn't make a move to intervene; Hisoka had clearly sent him the message that he would be the one to do this, not so much because he wanted to, but because Tsuzuki honestly believed that there was a way around this, that they would not have to do what their god had ordered them to.

"We were ordered to do our duty! You know that we can't kill outright! By saving him, we might have tipped the scales further!We are gods of _death!_ Enma sent us here to do a job! An assignment! Harry is nothing more than that!"

A tree fell with a mighty crash just yards away from where Kyo was but he paid it no heed. Takashi jumped, startled badly and he looked helplessly from Kyo to Hisoka, but made no further move. What was going on had to be played out to the end. A necessity he hated but he knew Kyo was beyond reasoning now.

"He is just a child! He's _my _child!" Kyo shrieked back and he suddenly paled. He took a shuddering breath, and another, almost wheezing as he stumbled back to be supported by Takashi who was just as pale and just as shaky. The wind devils died abruptly and the air was as still as it could be. The world was waiting with bated breath.

Hisoka and Tsuzuki were white as sheet, if not even more than their two friends. Agony wracked them briefly as the Death Seal flared, reminding them of their duty. Hisoka knew he had moments only to distract them and distract them he did. Even if it did made him feel like throwing up.

He said quietly, yet no less forcefully than when he had been shouting earlier, "We all know that Harry hasn't had the best of childhoods. He carries too much grief for one so young, and _too much power_. If he dies, and we _don't _retrieve him, who's to say that he won't be a Tuatha de Dannen? A _Shinigami__?"___

"This," he gestured to himself, to Tsuzuki, to Kyo and Takashi who stared back silently with wide eyes, "This is not a life. We are cursed. That's what becoming a Shinigami means. Do you really want that to happen to Harry? To never grow old? To know that he'll forever be stuck as a child and be seen as _nothing more than a child?_"

"But he's mine. . ." it was nothing more than a faint whisper, so weak that had there been even a slight breeze, it would have been blown away, never to be heard and maybe, the future would have gone a whole different path. A path that would have led to beyond anything a mere Dark Lord could dream of. But it didn't. It didn't because Hisoka heard and so Hisoka took it upon himself to brick up that path, to never let his two friends remember what they were never meant to remember.

"We all love Harry, I don't deny that," he hesitated and plunged on, never noticing how the skin of his palms broke and bled, his nails gouging deep into the soft flesh. "But if we truly love him, we have to _let him die and retrieve his soul_. He's suffered too much and will only suffer more if he becomes one of us."

Takashi stirred, gold-green eyes blank as he stared straight through the blond boy, seeing something more than he could understand. "But he deserves to live," he said weakly.

Hisoka blinked, slowly straightening until he was practically rigid with tension. His face was a mask that hid everything and anger, true anger, most of it, colored his next words.

"As did I."

                                                   **************

The three of them were alone, Kyo disappearing without another word earlier. Hisoka was the first to shake himself out of his stupor, moving hesitantly to Takashi's side. The former doctor turned blank eyes at him, allowing himself to sag against Tsuzuki who shouldered his weight easily, silently.

"It's okay," he said faintly, cutting off Hisoka who had just opened his mouth. "I understand why you did that." He shuddered, his tall frame wracked with uncontrolled trembling that shook him from head to toe. Tsuzuki was practically carrying him and afraid, concerned, his earlier anger fading underneath his friend's distress, Hisoka cradled Takashi's sweat-slicked face between his healed hands.

Fear, confusion, half-formed impressions of bright lights and strange faces greeted him as Hisoka extended his empathy. It was all overlaid with the Seal that was strained almost beyond breaking point, a frail web that was trying to hold everything back. Hisoka forced a smile that he did not feel, sending Takashi small, steady streams of reassurance and comfort that helped the Seal submerge the rising memories.

"You're exhausted," he chided gently even as Takashi slumped fully in Tsuzuki's strong arms. The former doctor's eyes fluttered close, face slack and pale as he finally succumbed to the darkness that waited and mercifully, held no foreign thoughts and impressions that left him grasping for understanding.

Tsuzuki swung Takashi into his arms without a word, easily carrying the man. Hisoka sighed, scrubbing his weary face with his soiled sleeve, encrusted with more than a little blood.

"Are you alright?" Tsuzuki asked gently, amethyst eyes shadowed.

"I will be," Hisoka said, matter-of-factly. And it was true. He wasn't alright _now, _but he will, later. Maybe after beating up a few helpless cushions, destroy a furniture or two and reduce stone wall to rubble.

"What about Kyo? Do you think it's okay to let him go off like that?"

Hisoka shrugged. "It'll be useless anyway to try and reason with him now. He needs to calm down and accept it. He'll come back when he's feeling better."

"And have _you _accepted it, 'Soka-chan?" 

The boy blinked, studying his partner who was staring back with equal gravity. The bond they shared held almost nothing back, nor did Hisoka try to. But still, he said it anyway.

"Have you?"

                                                   *************** 

Kyo remembered, from his earlier escape attempt with Snape, that there was a small lake not too far away from where he left the others staring after him. All it took was to refocus his will and he materialized just by the lake's edge. Protected by a unicorn, the grass was still green here and crushed underneath his feet, lent sweet fragrance to the cool air. The waters lapped the sides of the lake gently, little ripples calling out greeting. Here, in such a magical place untouched by the fumbling, greedy hands of humans, the elements sang out an audible, joyous call. They recognized Kyo for what he was and they were glad. His faltering steps were steadied by warm, solid earth. The sweet grass cushioned him when he fell and fragrant winds dried the tears he refused to acknowledge.

Too weary to move from where he had fallen to his knees, a lush willow tree bowed protectively over him and a steady rock supported his aching back.

_We shouldn't have saved him._

He buried his face in his hands, trying to block out the precise, sharp words that Hisoka had uttered. But no matter how loudly he screamed, no matter how he shouted, the words still waited, cold and stark. Deep inside, Kyo knew that Hisoka had not said it out of some perverse, sick cruelty. The boy, or man, if you counted death years, had spoken the truth. And Kyo, deep inside where he could say and see the truth for what it was, and not mask it underneath layers of denial, agreed with him. As Shinigamis, they belong to no one but Enma-Daioh and their deity had commanded them to do their duty.

But Enma forgive him, no matter that they were living a cursed, cruel mockery of a life, they were still human. Ignore the fact that they were practically impossible to kill, ignore that they would remain unchanged, forever stuck in the moment before their death, only to be granted release with the God of Death's mercy. Even with all this, they were still _human._

And because of it, Kyo and Takashi had made the most grievous error.

They fell in love with Harry.

Because no matter how happy they were and still am, Kyo longed for a child of his own with a hunger that kept him awake at nights sometimes in the long years of service. He wanted a child so badly, one he knew that he might have had he still been alive. Takashi bore that longing as well and he had lost count of how many times they comforted each other because of it. The longing had never been put into words because to do so would let their wanting crystallize into harsh reality. It wasn't that Kyo regretted falling in love with Takashi. Hell, he couldn't even _imagine _a life without the former sensei. Each knew that to live without the other was beyond the impossible; it was unthinkable.

But neither could each deny the yearning for a child to call their own.

Kyo had dreamt of such joy several times. He and Takashi would have a daughter or a son (he was somewhat partial to daughters in these dreams), and they would be a happy family together.

Of course, there _was _that small matter of them being _dead._

So Kyo and Takashi went on with their (un)lives, loving each other and loving their friends. When they accepted Enma's orders, to them, it was nothing more than another assignment, albeit a bit more exotic than their usual ones.

"It's not as though we've grown used to killing," Kyo said out loud, ignoring how his voice cracked at the last word. "We hate it. But still, it's just another assignment. . ." he trailed off. How could they deny the fact that when they met Harry for the first time, when those huge green eyes met theirs, they could see and feel a reflection of their pain? It was then that they committed their biggest mistake of falling in love with him.

"So what do we do now?"

No one and nothing answered him.

                                                          ************

Somewhere far away, yet so very near, in a place where time held no meaning (for what do hours, minutes and distance meant to an Immortal?), a goddess sat by a riverbank. Her hair was white spun silk, glimmering like gossamer cobwebs in a sun that never shone too bright nor too dim. Her skin was camellia-pale and creamy and if it weren't for the dark rings of her irises, her eyes would have been thought blind, so white were they.

Her hands which had been deftly weaving a cloth of filigree light stilled in her lap. The strands parted and frayed under her wandering attention and the jewel-green grass was stained with golden brilliance. On smooth, ageless cheeks, tear tracks lent the goddess a mortal's frailty and her shoulders were hunched, bowed beneath a weight that seemed too heavy, even for one such as her. 

The flow of the river water, bright laughter splashing and tumbling over smooth rocks, slowed till it was moving as heavily as sludge. A pass of those trembling camellia petal hands and the river's surface was a glistening glass. It did not reflect the goddess's face but rather, became a window to the mortal realm. In the water, where her reflection should have been, a young man could be seen. His head was bowed on crossed hands resting over his raised knees, the dark hair shadowing his face. But even without seeing it, the Immortal could tell that the light blue eyes were darkened with brimming tears.

"Be strong," she whispered, her voice as smooth and melodious as a flute that sang a haunting tune.

"Please, Kyo. Be strong."

                                                 **************

Evening had fallen by the time Kyo trudged back to the castle. Dusk painted the sky a rosy pink, softening the harsh edges of the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid's hut was cheerily lit, smoke curling up from the tilted chimney. He could hear Fang barking madly inside, shot through with the half-giant's voice booming for the boarhound to shut up.

Kyo ignored that, as he ignored everything else; the beautiful sky that could basically go screw itself, even the majestic castle looming before him which quite irrationally, he longed to raze to smoldering ruins with some elemental kick ass firepower.

He traversed the mostly silent hallways, sliding from shadow to shadow. His robes which had started out pure virginal white were now crusted with dirt, a few choice leaves and suspiciously dark stains. He knew that if anyone saw him now, he'd be liable to be asked questions he did not want to answer. So he took care to not be seen and reached the Fat Lady's portrait without anyone being the wiser.

Thankfully, the Fat Lady was slumbering, only snorting when he quietly gave the password and she swung open, bubbles blowing form her slack mouth. The common room beyond was mercifully empty; the Gryffindors were all down for dinner which was precisely why he chose this time to come back. He wasted no time in the showers, scrubbing away a whole day's worth of grime and dirt and gladly threw the _shikifuku_in the laundry hamper. Clean now, and a bit more refreshed, he quickly ensconced himself in his bed, the hangings tightly drawn. Kyo took a moment to pinpoint Harry's exact location and found the boy sleeping peacefully in the hospital wing.

Kyo had to crack a smile at that. He knew that Harry hated being in there but doubted he had been in much of a mind to argue. Kyo still had an hour or so before the tower came back to life and he settled back into his pillows with a grateful sigh. He wasn't looking forward to it. Because he knew that he ought to apologize to Hisoka for his outburst and frankly, was slightly apprehensive of the blond's reaction.

Sprawled across the covers, an arm flung over his eyes, Kyo tried to blink back the tears that still threatened him now and then. God, how he hated crying. A weakness that he despised. At least, here under the protections of his wards which he had yet to take down, even if he did breakdown, no one would be the wiser. Not even Hisoka with the wards to distract his empathy burning strong.

He must have dozed off for the next thing he knew, a soft coo startled him and he shot awake, chest heaving with surprise. There, at the foot of his four poster bed, head tilted inquisitively, was a luminescent white bird, eerily surreal. A shikigami. And oddly enough, the shikigami was carrying a letter, like a wizard's owl.

Kyo blinked and without knowing why, dread coated his stomach like a layer of frost, freezing his innards and his breath caught in his throat. He reached out a trembling hand and the bird cooed again and dropped the letter in his outstretched hand and disappeared. For what seemed like eternity, Kyo didn't dare to draw in his arm until the ache in his elbow forced him to.

Hands trembling even wilder, he brought the envelope closer to see it better. The envelope was of heavy parchment, much like what wizards preferred. It was sealed with plain white wax which he broke open. The letter inside was of similar material, aged and deliciously elegant in his sweaty hands. As he unfolded it, Kyo chewed his bottom lip apprehensively.

The letter started with the sender's coat of arms. A crest that made Kyo cry out in disbelief, rage and anguish.

The crest had a background of wavy, black water, symbolizing the gateway between realms and it was superimposed with a white butterfly, symbolizing the spirit of the dead.

The crest of the Count of the Castle of Candles.

*****to be continued*****

**A/N: **So did anyone actually think that the Shinigami's assignment was to kill off Voldemort? *grin* Goes to show that you can't just make assumptions like that. If you're still skeptical, yes, their assignment **is **to retrieve Harry. And what does the letter from Hakushaku-sama is all about? Ah. . .tune in for the next chapter, ne?

**P.S: **The Count's crest is the dear **LibraryCat**'s design, whom I'm currently threatening bodily harm for leaving me hanging with her new scene which she's doing for me. You hear that **LibraryCat**?


	20. Chapter 20:The straw that broke the came...

**Title: **When Death Comes a'Knocking

**Plot Mistresses: **Shiozaki, Shaynie, Literary Eagle, Librarycat

**Spell Researchers: **The talented, too-kind people of the Yahoo!Group, shadowsofthefox

**Warning: **It's cliffhanger season

**Scene Master: **Shiozaki 

**Review replies:**

**Gina: **Hello love. How are you doing? Hope you enjoy the torture and torment!

**Tenshiamanda****, Yanagi-sen, Kodomo Hikari, penny: **Domo! And penny, you're making me fat with all the offerings *grin*. Keep 'em coming!

**Yui-mag****: **Snape's glare was perhaps, colder than ice and hell, made nitrogen a perfectly warm drink in comparison. He regarded the reviewer before him as an elephant would a gnat.

"And so I must be grateful that you deign to show appreciation to a," his pale lips curled into a sneer, "A _greasy git _such as myself?"

Silence answered him, from both bewildered reviewer and an author who wonders quietly about her sanity in general.

A snarl twisted gaunt features to something that would have had seventh year Hufflepuffs wail in dismay. "Detention then, for your presumption! And ten points from—from . ." he trailed off thoughtfully before thin, elegant shoulders slump in resignation. "Oh, for love of Merlin, why do I even bother?"

*Cough* Kelly: Just a little side entertainment for your pleasure ^____^

**Quatre**** Winner: **Maa, maa. . Hisoka wasn't being heartless nor insensitive. . rather, he was looking out for his best friends. . think of the agony they would go through should they lose Harry. . .Ne, is Yami Quatre cute? *sparkly eyes* He sounds so. . . .wow. . .is he available? *grin* And hey, Shinigami!Harry is always a good idea. . .need any help?

**Feye**** Morgan; **Now that has got to be one of the best reviews I've gotten. To know your reaction as the chapter progressed was very fulfilling as the writer ^___^ Yes, you _should _read the trilogy. Otherwise, you'd be missing a whole lot in this and the upcoming chapters. In many ways also, the trilogy is echoed in subtle ways in this arc. Or I could give you spoilers if you want?

Really, that scene where Kyo and Hisoka fought was one of my better inspirations. I was emailing **Libraycat****, **and we were talking about how I was having trouble fleshing out that very scene. I got away from the computer to get a drink and all of a sudden, in my dark kitchen, the whole conversation just hit me. Just like that! Thank god for muses eh? Please, I love having discussion, possible theories and explorations of the plot. It makes me deliriously happy when people acknowledge the twists we try so hard to work in! 

**KaZn****, kael, anime_jt; **Thanks very much! And I'm glad you all loved the twist we had in Harry's fate. Will Harry die? Will he not? Ah, so many questions. . .

**WolfPilot06: **Aha, I only spotted the errors myself after posting. . damn. I must have been more tired than I thought. Thank god you found the characters believable. It was one reason why I dreaded doing a HPfic at first. JK had woven such a richly textured world with characters that are begging to be explored. And more KxT lovers! I figured, when I first fleshed them out, that perfection does not exist and it's the flaws that make you loveable. Guess I was right, ne?

**Gentleman: ***blushes* Thank you so much, yet again, for your praises. I can feel the sincerity! Hehe!

**Aki-san: **Ne, ne, where have you been? Hadn't had an email from you in ages! You doing okay?

**Beachan18: **Ah, new reader. . .*see me glow* I assure you, when their identities as Shinigami are revealed, it will be most. . . .interesting. *grin* And I'm trying my darndest to get Tsuzuki more airtime but he's being stubborn! 

**NOTE TO ALL DISCERNING READERS: **

I have unashamedly roped in the help of some wonderful people who have been important in the fleshing of the plot; namely, **Shaynie**(who seems to be more fond of **Librarycat** than me, but I understand. . *sniff* :P ), **Literary Eagle **and of course, fellow evil-neko in disguise (did I say disguise?) **Librarycat****.**As such, the plot for WDCAK has grown by leaps and bounds.

So **Librarycat**and myself have come to an agreement; the story will be divided into BOOKS. Yes, you read that right. This will be the first book and we'll have a second one after that, continuing under the same major title (WDCAK) but under a different subheading. Damn, we're good.

**                                                                   Chapter 20**

**                                             The straw that broke the camel's back**

The morning, and subsequently, the whole day, had been a strained affair. Hermione, Ron and Ginny by default, had been more than a little worried about Harry's little foray into God-chasing. Not that they had actually understood the impact of such a foolhardy action. They had not realised that Harry had put himself in the position where he could have been dragged off to the Realm of Immortals; to never grow old and die and to forever be stuck in whatever torment the gods felt like bestowing. His soul would not be able to receive judgment, never having passed through Death's gate**,** and he would never have been able to receive salvation.

But they were worried, nonetheless, as true friends should have been. Harry had been taken to the hospital wing by Dumbledore, given a Dreamless Sleep potion by the indomitable nurse. It wasn't as though Harry put up a fight. Rather, he was lacklustre to the point of catatonia and that had only increased his friends' anxiety. They had been strictly forbidden by the Headmaster to question Harry until at least the day after and even then only if he felt up to it. All this and more Hisoka had read from Harry's friends' minds. Their emotions were an open book to him, even if he sometimes did not feel like reading.

Hisoka had a nap himself, waking up by evening and Kyo still had not returned. The blond quashed the feeling of unease that tried to gnaw him. Of course Kyo would not be back so early. If he even came back by nightfall would be more than Hisoka could hope for. He had pushed his friend to the near edges and he wasn't proud of it. But it was a necessity. The young empath had watched the growing closeness between Harry, Kyo and Takashi in relief mixed with alarm. He felt relieved in that his friends had finally found the incomplete piece to their lives and alarm, for this was too close to what Kyo had lost just decades ago; a son to replace the daughter Kyo himself had killed. Who knew what the growing bond with Harry would have done to Kyo's and Takashi's Death Seal? 

As he joined the trio; Ginny replacing Harry, for dinner that night, he brusquely brushed away their tactful inquiries as to Kyo's whereabouts. He was curt to the point of rudeness and his empathy told him that it was only because of his help in rescuing Harry on Samhain that Ron refrained from throwing a temper tantrum.

He played idly with his dinner, Tsuzuki a constant presence in the back of his mind, his partner sending out waves of calm and reassurance that he gladly embraced. It was the telepathic equivalent to a display of affection that would have earned the hundred year old Shinigami a sock to the jaw if he tried it in public.

"Hisoka," a voice interjected quietly.

He looked up from his miniature model of Hogwarts in creamy mashed potatoes to find warm brown eyes studying him with quiet intensity. "Are you alright?"

He forced a smile he did not feel, at best, a half-hearted twitch of the lips. "I'm fine, Hermione. Thank you for asking," he added belatedly.

All around them, conversation was circulating around the Samhain festivities, now public knowledge. That is, the part that did not involve chasing gods and becoming chased themselves by indiscriminating Immortals and Death Eaters alike. The chatter tended to centre around the 'awesome', 'way cool' and 'bloody amazing, mate!' ritual that the Headmaster had them participate in. More than one reported of a good dream afterwards of meeting lost loved ones.

Hermione, seated by Ron's side who was chatting amiably with his sister, smiled a small smile herself. Her eyes still had that cautious, guarded look that had yet to leave since meeting them, not that Hisoka blamed her. But it was tempered with a gentle care that oddly enough to Hisoka, felt absolutely sincere.

"You don't look it," she contradicted him. "Does it have anything to do with Kyo?"

He shot her a startled look. "How did yo—" and mentally berated himself.

Hermione grinned. "It's not that hard to guess you know. He hasn't shown up the whole day and you've been looking as though smiles are now mandatory."

He had to stifle a grin at that. Was he really that solemn? Oh, who was he kidding? He had enough ribbing from Watari and Tsuzuki both to confirm that decades ago.

"It's just," he started, frowning before shrugging fatalistically. "It's just a little misunderstanding. I'm sure it'll clear up soon."

Before she could ask further, someone outside of their little circle butted in, all sandy hair and cheerful grin.

"Hey Ron," it was Seamus, the Gryffindor Quiddditch reserve team Beater. "When's Harry getting out?" The other Gryfindors had been told that Harry had a spot of fever and was resting in the care of Madam Pomfrey.

Ron shrugged, carefully keeping his eyes on his peas while the tips of his ears turned a delicate pink. "Dunno," he said diffidently. "Maybe tomorrow morning, why?"

Seamus gave him an odd look but the Irish boy dismissed it as something particular to the trio; the Gryffindors were used to the three (well, maybe four now what with Ginny becoming a regular occurrence) being privy to matters that the normal student wasn't.

"McLeod asked that the match tomorrow be pushed to Sunday. Said that Ravenclaw is having their final debate competition and they want to prepare for it."

"Shit!" Ron swore, spattering his plate with half-chewed peas.

"Ron!" was Hermione's and Ginny's disgusted response and Ron threw them an apologetic smile.

"Sorry," he said hastily then groaned. "Man, I can't believe I forgot about the match!"

Seamus shrugged. "Well, yeah, it's understandable, what with Harry being sick."

Ron grunted. 

"So is it okay?" Seamus asked.

"Why are you asking me?" Ron groused, stabbing his meat with a viciousness that would have surely killed the cow had it still been alive.

Seamus rolled his eyes, a look on his face clearly saying that he felt Ron could not get more stupid that this. "It's going to be to our advantage right? We'll get another day of practice in while the Ravenclaws are busy studying. Besides," he added casually, "You're vice-captain, of course we should be asking you when the captain's out."

"I don't thi—" Ron stopped, his scowl transforming into blank astonishment. "V-v-vice captain?" he squeaked. 

"Yeah," Seamus shrugged, a pleased smile lighting his good-natured face. "McGonagall told us this morning when we couldn't find you. Said you better do a good job of it as well."

Ron by now was gaping like a freshly caught trout, fork dangling limply in his hand. Hermione smiled broadly; while Quidditch was still an unfathomable bore to her, she knew how much it meant to Ron to receive such an honour. His jealousy at Harry's apparent 'fame' might have dwindled but it still wasn't easy at times for the redhead, despite his constant support and staunch presence by Harry's side. He deserved such recognition and Hermione and basically, everyone else who wasn't blinded to such things knew it as well.

She snaked an arm around Ron's waist, hugging him. "Congratulations Ron," she said warmly.

Ginny too joined the hug, grinning. "Yeah big brother, congratulations. Does this mean you're going to get big-headed as well?" she teased lightly.

"Hey!" Ron was startled out of his self-induced stupor. "I resent that!" He echoed their grins and gave both girls a hug as well. "Harry's going to be so surprised," he said happily.

"Oh, I wouldn't bet on that," a soft voice interjected and the three turned to Hisoka who finally lifted his face to smile at them. Hermione smiled softly to herself. It was nice to see some sort of good humour on his face, though she wasn't about to point that out to him. Hisoka had this funny habit of doing exactly the opposite if he was complimented in any way. That, or scowl fiercely till you dropped dead from the force of the glare. The blond had been more than quiet throughout dinner and it was good to see some sort of merriment in those eyes that were too old for the young face. Hisoka's smile grew into a grin. "After all, Harry knows what kind of a person you are and I'm sure he had expected such a thing."

Ron flushed, his face and neck turning a deep red. "Yeah," he said gruffly. "He's just that kind I guess."

"Oh, Ron," Hermione sniffled, patting the corner of her eyes with her napkin.

Ron groaned half-heartedly, taking the chance to tug at Hermione's hair. "Don't you start crying, please," he said in mock horror.

"Prat," Hermione sniffed again through her smile.

"I hate to break this sudden love fest," Seamus piped in, chuckling evilly when both Ron and Hermione quickly averted their faces from each other, Ginny snickering. "But what do you say Ron? Postpone the match?"

"Yeah," Ron nodded. "I think Criss is a great player," he said, referring to the reserve Seeker, a third year with wavy blond hair, brown eyes, and a penchant for Wronski feints that was just a shy inch or two from Harry's own daredevil versions. "But it might be too soon to put her in a game and this'll give time for Harry to recover. So yeah, tell McLeod it's alright with me."

"Cool, I'll tell McGonagall and the rest then."

"Great. Whew," Ron sighed.

"Your first official duty as vice-captain," Hermione noted.

Ron nodded solemnly. "I know. I hope I'll be okay."

Hisoka smiled faintly. "You will."

                                                                 ***************

Craven was not given the option of screaming. Or even whimpering. The silencing spell placed on him was strong enough to ensure that not even the slightest sigh could pass his lips. And that somehow made the agony burn fiercer, the pain to double and triple until all he felt was liquid fire replacing blood, bubbling through every vein, every pore. The casual flick of a pale, almost white wand (the irony of it was not lost upon him), had him sliding across polished floors, banging without heed nor caution into solid stone walls and once, even hanging upside down only to be dropped none too gently on to the floor.

Through it all, Voldemort watched with disinterested eyes as his second in command, one Lucius Malfoy, turned a human being into the Muggle equivalent of a rubber ball. Malfoy himself might have been only playing with such mentioned toy, if you were to judge by the look on his face. Utter boredom, coupled with a certain, detached curiosity that sent chills down any sane person's spine twisted the marred, pale flesh that once had highborn, pureblooded witches sighing after him.

After having Craven contort in soundless misery as he quietly murmured _Lacero_, only then did a faint spark of interest cross those cold, cold eyes when blood flowed freely from a cheek sliced open to the bone. He would have gone further if the Dark Lord had not stopped him with a bored wave of his hand.

The two of them watched dispassionately as Craven tried to crawl into himself with pain and silenced agony, until a wave of the white wand restored him of his voice. Pitiful groans and quiet whimpers broke the expectant stillness. But Craven knew better than to stew in his misery. Shaking, drops of blood staining the rich, Persian carpet he landed on, Craven stumbled to his knees, pressing his forehead deep in obeisance.

"You failed."

Craven did not dare to utter even a token defense. What use, after that bout of punishment? After all, as the Dark Lord had so succinctly pointed out, he _had _failed. Craven was a lot of things; he was shrewd, an opportunist, a gold-digger in the unfortunate sense of the word, and a smart coward. He knew when to run, when to hide and when to shut the hell up so he could save what little hide he had. After that little session, _Crucio_would be the least of his worries this evening. He was more cautious of igniting the Master's displeasure to heights of _Avada__ Kedavra_. A mercy which Meeks had not had the pleasure of. Somehow or other, he got the feeling that despite the mortal wound of such a stab from an insubstantial weapon, Meeks was far from dead as the word implied. He had heard of such abducting, how the victims suffered from eternal torment at the pleasure of the gods.

Voldemort's ire was a far better option.

"You would not speak in your defense, Craven?" came the sibilant hiss.

Craven pressed himself even more, forehead almost grinding into the lush carpet beneath him. His voice was raspy, throat bleeding even if he had not the pleasure of actually making his torment known earlier. "My Lord, I know I have disappointed you and it was entirely my fault. I can only hope that you would give me the chance to redeem myself."

There came a low laughter, like steam escaping from a boiling kettle or water splashing on hot coals. It snaked through and around him, filling him with the darkness that only this. . . ._thing_could and it made the Dark Mark on his inner forearm throb in sympathetic resonance. 

"I believe we have here someone nearly worthy of your glib tongue, Lucius."

"My Lord," Malfoy replied. His voice, once arrogance coated with silk and butter, was a shadow of its former smoothness. Time in Azkaban does something to a man, nevermind that the Dementors had abandoned it in favour of joining forces with the Dark Lord. A place that bore the stain of the foul creatures' presence for so long and in such copious amounts would never be cleansed of their foulness. The very air would remain dark and haunted by the wails of lost souls. It was said that even prisoners recently incarcerated after the Dementors' defection still went insane, though whether it was due to the leftover stains or the 'interrogations' they were put through by the Aurors now guarding the prison was debatable.

Malfoy had escaped, thanks to the transfigurations talent of the Dark Lord himself and a fervent, if somewhat unappreciated Death Eater who was as loyal to the Dark Lord's cause as Wormtail was afraid of his own shadow. The fool had gladly taken Malfoy's place, buoyed by the Lord's promise of great rewards and riches when the name Voldemort ruled the magical world.

"His tongue may be smooth but as he himself had admitted, he had failed."

"Very true, my little Slytherin," Voldemort answered somewhat fondly. Craven was a little reassured by the apparent good humour. Maybe he _could _get away with just a _Crucio_. 

His fingers digging into the plush fibres, Craven swallowed audibly and dared to speak up. "Master, even though I failed to predict the possibility of the Wild Hunt intruding," he subtly reminded of _why _he had failed, and how no one in their right minds could ever hope to win against such adversaries, he continued, "I have uncovered certain information that I thought would interest you, concerning the Japanese."

He was peripherally aware that all motion in the room had ceased and waited, tense, nervous sweat running down the sides of his face to mingle and pool in the still open cut on his cheek. He contained a wince, knowing that to show further weakness now would only annoy the Dark Lord.

"Rise, Craven, and address me properly."

Craven hastily complied, cringing as his knee joints protested after being abused for so long, not to mention all that banging and crashing he did earlier. Voldemort had installed himself in a throne-like chair at the head of the room, the space itself oddly bare save for the carpet and the chair. Even the walls were devoid of the usual moving portraits. Malfoy stood by his master's side, his once cruel and handsome face marred by crisscross lines and twisted lumps of flesh that showed the mark of a hot iron judiciously applied. Cold eyes, as cold as the red snake gleam of Voldemort's watched him analytically.

"The Japanese were there during the fight as well my Lord," Craven started. "In fact, one of them helped protect the boy."

"And?" Malfoy prompted impatiently when Craven struggled visibly to find the right words.

Craven flinched wildly, clearly expecting to be cursed but no wand appeared from either the Master or his right hand man. Greatly reassured, yet tripping even more in his haste to make sure that circumstances stayed that way, Craven spoke quickly.

"They can fly. The Japanese," he added helpfully.

Malfoy blinked once, before his pale lips curled into a sneer. "Anyone can fly you idiot," he snarled. "Even on a decrepit Cleansweep one is still considered to be flying."

Craven shook his head hurriedly. "Not on broomsticks."

Both Malfoy's cold eyes and Voldemort's red coals narrowed into slits.

"They were able to fly under their own power my Lord. No broomsticks. No thestrals." He did not need to add that no wizard, save perhaps the truly powerful ones like the Dark Lord or even Dumbledore, could achieve this feat. Even then, powerful wizards would be more than hard-pressed to do so with the fluidity, and grace, and for the length that the Japanese exhibited.

The silence in the cavernous room thickened, deepened, till it was a near tangible felt that suffocated Craven, still swathed in his dirty black robes. His white mask, which had tumbled out of his pockets earlier was clenched in a grip so tight that cracks were starting to spread out along the ceramic-like material.

Voldemort broke the silence with a question that bewildered Craven.

"Is she still alive?" he addressed Malfoy.

The pale blond nodded once. "Barely, my Lord. I'd give her a day at the most."

"Prepare for the ritual then. It seems we must initiate that stage faster than I had planned."

"Tonight, my Lord?" Malfoy inquired with a lift of an eyebrow.

"Tonight."

Malfoy bowed briefly before spinning around on his heels, leaving the room in a swirl of robes and the hollow sound of booted feet striking cold marble. Craven started to his feet as well but was stopped by Voldemort's, "Had I dismissed you as well, Craven?"

That in itself was beyond ominous and it made his blood run cold. Sweating, chilled with fear and apprehension, Craven shook his head, keeping his eyes trained on the carpet's pattern of entwined snakes. "No, my Lord," he replied hoarsely.

"Indeed. _Crucio_."

                                                               **************** 

Harry woke up with a muffled gasp, a half choked sound that was a scream waiting to be released. His chest felt too tight, the air suddenly too precious and rare for his lungs to take in. He trashed wildly, hardly feeling the pain as his hand connected with something sharp and decidedly heavy. Pain still coursed through his slender frame, dull throbbing that seemed determined to take up permanent residence. Red eyes gleamed still in the darkness where vision was supposed to be and he could feel echoes of the Cruciatus curse lingering in his marrows, turning his blood into something toxic that ate through his bones and dissolved flesh into liquid.

_"Respiro!"___

Suddenly, it became much easier to breathe, and Harry gratefully took in great, gulping gasps of the heretofore unappreciated aspect of living; the ability to breathe. That major obstacle having been taken care of, his brain decided that it was high time he paid attention to other demands that his nervous system was making. In other words, the torment that was the leftover remnants of a particularly displeased, more than annoyed, and highly curious Dark Lord. Curling up into a tight ball, much like the position that Death Eater (Craven?) had taken, Harry whimpered, residue pain enough to block out any coherent thoughts of what he had witnessed.

Hands, a pair smelling faintly of starched linens and medicine, the other, of cloves and cinnamon, settled him into a more comfortable position, ignoring his need to curl up into a passable imitation of a hedgehog. The one that smelled of white sheets and Skele-Gro wiped off the sweat dewing his forehead, the scar still a mite too hot. The other hands gently, but firmly, forced liquid after vile liquid down his throat. He made a faint noise of protest, the urge to choke overwhelming him but a long, cool finger stroked across his throat and swallowing became easier. Despite the nastiness of the brews he was forced to take, gradually, the pain receded to a more manageable burn and finally, coherency and thought returned to him.

Harry blinked, feeling the last trails of tears fall down only to be gently wiped away by a cool cloth.

"Pr'fessor Snape?" he rasped out and he was uncomfortably reminded of his vision, of the Death Eater's own broken voice admitting failure.

Black eyes regarded him solemnly, the glint in them subdued to a curious glimmer that only served to confuse him further. Madam Pomfrey, he recognized her now, was bustling by the other side of his bed and quickly, efficiently, he was made to swallow more potions; calming, painkillers, one for the after effects of the Cruciatus, and one for fevers.

Harry submitted to the nurse's other ministrations in a daze, barely taking in her muttered imprecations of evil wizards who wreaked havoc in her infirmary and children forced to fight in wars. He was only marginally aware also of the splash of something hot on his hand that might have been an errant tear, but it could have been remnants a dream. Soon enough, after admonitions from the nurse that he was to stay in bed and to drink the vial of Dreamless Sleep she left for him on the bedside table, the nurse left him with the swish of white robes and the businesslike clicks of heels on polished stone floors.

Throughout it all, the only thing he was aware of, and could only be truly aware of, was a pair of dark eyes watching him. Always watching and never wavering in their steady perusal as his slight form had been made comfortable by the mediwitch. Now bereft of Madam Pomfrey's steady, if somewhat indomitable presence, Harry wished desperately that he could sink into his pillows, have the bed open up and swallow him whole, anything but to have those dark eyes staring at him for a second longer.

Thinking frantically of an excuse, any excuse to have that stare as far way from him as possible, Harry was more than surprised when the soft click of boot heels and the flare of dark robes informed him plainly of the Potions Master's presence, now standing just a few inches away from him.

A cool finger tilted his chin up gently and even as Harry contained the instinctive urge to flinch, he dimly realised that it was Snape who had helped him swallow those potions, when all he wanted was to puke his guts out and die right there and then. Dread and apprehension both warred for dominance in his recently settled stomach as Harry reluctantly followed that silent command. His vision was blurred at the edges, his glasses somewhere not on his nose, but nevertheless, he was captivated by those black eyes that wove a spell on him.

He thought briefly of fighting back but decided that it was useless. With some resignation, he allowed the wizard's stare to take in more than just green eyes that were so Lily Potter's, to the vision that had him in its thrall not a few minutes ago. Thankfully, the replaying was devoid of the intense pain that accompanied it and amazingly, that was all Snape viewed. His other memories were left pointedly untouched and Harry felt a prickle of shame twist his insides.

The scent of cinnamon and cloves filled his nostril as that same finger trailed across his cheekbonesand up to trace the now, thankfully cool scar thoughtfully. Unbidden, Harry's eyes fell close as that finger traced the jagged outline of the lightning bolt. There was a faint tingle to it, almost like sparks jumping from raised skin to calloused finger. A Dark mark recognizing another.

Languor of a kind not unlike when gentle hands rubbed soft circles on his back and comforting voices hummed an unknown lullaby settled over him. He leaned into that still tracing finger and opening his eyes, staring straight into black ones which had a faint line furrowing in between, he said, softly, "I'm sorry."

Long silence, a bit like when you were out under the stars and there was no need for anything to fill the space between, fell over them. The Potion Master's finger made one last outline before falling away, the man mimicking the action by stepping away from the bed. As he left, booted feet making almost no sound, the professor's voice floated back to him.

"Monday, 9 pm. My office."

                                                           ***************** 

Hisoka's sleep was somewhat restful, nowhere near as peaceful as Harry's potion-induced sleep, but still, it was marginally better than he had expected to have. Returning from dinner and after a game of chess with Ron in the common room (he was soundly beaten by the way), he had pleaded weariness and retired quickly to the sixth year's dorm. The closed curtains around Kyo's bed stopped him in his tracks, relief and dread both making him momentarily dizzy. He took a step closer, hand reaching out to part the heavy, velvet drapes but something told him that this was not the time.

Letting his hand fall back to his side with a sigh, Hisoka quickly changed into his pyjamas before the other boys made their appearance. The curse that decorated his body for more than half of his existence, both mortal and beyond, was gone now, the spell breaking with the caster's death but it still made him uncomfortable to have anyone but Tsuzuki view him in the nude. Safely ensconced in his flannels, Hisoka curled up under the covers and wished, for the thousandth time, that he had Tsuzuki to curl up to.

He was dreaming a very weird dream. Of gods and goddesses crying rivers of blood and oddly enough, of Takashi. The former sensei was stabbing himself in the chest with a scarlet-red dagger and saying that it was too late. They were all too late.

He woke up, shot out of the dream which had the faintly disturbing feel to it like that of a prophetic vision, by something heavy falling on to his stomach. He scrabbled around, fingers frantically trying to spot whatever it was that fell on him through the predawn glow that shone through his parted hangings. His fingers met cool metal and tasselled rope. The _chink _of steel against steel told him, more plainly than his eyesight, that what he held was his katana_. _ His family sword.

Only two other people besides Tsuzuki knew he brought the heirloom blade with him, kept in a secret compartment in the false bottom of his trunk. The blade was ancient, having been dedicated to the temples as an offering when an ancestor of his made its twin, that which was passed onto each successive heir. Hisoka had managed to get hold of the offered sword through years of dogged determination and help from both Konoe Kacho and Tatsumi. They in turn had used their connections with various onmyouji and Shinto priests for him to now hold the sword in his hands.

The sword which he had no intention of using in any practice fight.

Kyo stood by his bed and the dawning light of morning was a pale backdrop that hid his face in shadows. He too held a sword, sheathed, in his hands and judging by the sound, it was cold steel as well.

Hisoka gulped, feeling his eyes widen. It wasn't just the unexpected twist to their morning practice that had him flabbergasted. It was the fact that when he extended his empathy, he encountered an ice wall; cold, frozen and impenetrable to his gift. Kyo was radiating as much emotion as a statue.

His friend shifted slightly, already clad in his _hakama_and _uwagi_, Hisoka noted dimly, to say, in perhaps the scariest voice he had ever heard (save for Muraki's), "Get up."

"K-kyo?" he tried, not able to prevent the tremble in his voice. "Are you okay?"

Kyo leaned forwards, ducking beneath the hangings till they were face to face. Hisoka bit back a gasp; Kyo's eyes, normally a warm, pale blue, was as cold as the mental walls he had put up. No feelings resided in those depths save for a burning rage that froze the younger boy where he was. The stare was inhuman in its ferocity and for a panicked moment, Hisoka wondered whether the Death Seal had well and truly been broken.

But no, there was no residue of Enma's power. Besides, the breaking of such a ward would have caused unmitigated disaster on a magical scale that would be equivalent to an earthquake. And the morning seemed fine, no worse for the wear save for the statue that wore the face of one of his closest friends.

_"I said, get up." _The hiss brought his mind back to the present, as sharp as a slap. Without another word, Kyo spun around, the light finally falling on a face that would have made a manticore look friendly. The door swung open even without Kyo touching it, a stab of frigid wind accompanying him and causing the boys, still asleep in their warm beds, to shiver briefly.

Swallowing that stubborn lump in his throat, Hisoka gathered his own _hakama_and _uwagi_, nearly tearing the ties in his haste. He pulled on his socks in frantic rush, all the while muttering, "Oh shit oh shit oh _shit,_" under his breath. Thoughts skittered like dry leaves blown by a high wind and any it never occurred to him to call out toTsuzuki for help. He was panicking too much, afraid to his very core at what had caused his friend to descend into such rage. Fingers gone numb with fear fumbled for his sword, almost dropping the heavy weapon on to the floor which would have been a very bad idea right then.

He forgot any sort of niceties like arm bandages as he hurried out of the room to find Kyo already out of the portrait hole. Still swearing and praying frantically for Enma, for any deity that was currently in a generous mood to save them, Hisoka could not shake off the feeling that his dream had indeed, been clairvoyant.

If it was, he could only pray that they would be able to pick up the pieces afterwards.

*****to be continued*****

**A/N: **What has made Kyo so frighteningly angry? And what will Hisoka do to stem that rage?

**Note: **That little scene where Hisoka was playing with his mashed potatoes Hogwarts was a little salute to **The Velvet Ghost**'s amazing, fantabulous _Harry Potter and the Ankh of Khepri_.


	21. Chapter 21:Here there be monsters

**Title: **When Death Comes a'Knocking: Book 1 – Of Revelations

**Plot Mistresses: **Shiozaki, Shaynie, Literary Eagle, Librarycat

**Spell Researchers: **The talented, too-kind people of the Yahoo!Group, shadowsofthefox

**Warning: **Much hinting of the Kojiki Trilogy, as well as a Disturbed!Kyo. 

**Scene Master: **Shiozaki & Librarycat

**Review replies:**

**Hitomibishop****: **Nyahhahaha! If you think an Angry!Kyo is scary, wait till you read this chapter. . .

**Quatre**** Winner: **Ah, a faithful reviewer. I love you. Ne, ne, you never answered my question. Is Yami Quatre cute?

**Cmquietone****, Yanagi-sen, Kodomo Hikari, kael, Kiki neesan, tenshiamanda, ****Phoenix****: **Thank you. Hopefully, I'll get rid of the typos in this chapter, though I'm not exactly hoping much. . .really, we must ponder; why is Kyo so upset?

**Aki Konoe: **Aki-chan! Gomen! I got your sms but liked you theorized, I was broke! And yes, it would cost me a lot to sms overseas. . .ah, well, guess we stick with email huh? And the Alexander in the new world thing, is it MSN Messenger? Coz if yes, I have it, though not under my name. How about Yahoo!Messenger?

**Feye**** Morgan: **Yes, I absolutely love the way you review! And to answer some of your questions; the 'she' will be explained soon. And no, Snape was not being nice (see my notes below). As to how the Shinigami's identities will be discovered. . . *smile* That's up to you people to find out ne? I can't spoil the surprise! Have you read the trilogy? *cringe* Let me assure you that my writing has improved since then. I swear, I get embarrassed when I read my old works. . 

**Winter & Gentleman: **Pleased to make your acquaintance, Winter. ^___^ **Gentleman **has always been such a courteous reviewer that having his sibling on it as well makes my smile grow wider ^________^ See? Your simple praises do me a world of good. Keep them coming.

**Tatsuken****: **Ah, long time reader, first time reviewer? Never mind, as long as I hear from you! ^___^ I'm happy to know that a lot of my old readers are sticking around. Feels like coming back to a well-loved place. And no, considering that it's fanfiction, it's not weird hearing from someone I don't know. It's how I make some of the best friends I ever had. Hope to keep hearing from you in the future!

**NOTE TO ALL:** I would just like to insist here, for the sake of plot integrity, that Snape was _not _being nice to Harry in the infirmary scene. Let's just say that it was more of a temporary suspension of hostilities. Snape gets to see firsthand what a vision does to Harry and he sympathizes. But that does not mean he'll turn all nice and mushy on Harry, in the process forgetting the hatred he has for the boy's father and thus, turning this into a Severitus fic. Snape is a far more complex character than that to ever happen in my story. He is a snarky git who's doing a thankless job for people who hate him for what he is.

You have **Librarycat**to thank for giving such color to him ^____^

**                                                                   Chapter 21**

**                                                      Here There Be Monsters**

Takashi was standing on the edge of a cliff. The drop was steep, sudden, empty air that deepened into an inky well that echoed with the clatter of falling stones as his toes scuffed the lip of the cliff. Turning his head, he could see a forest stretching out behind him, dark with evergreens that stood silent and still; sentinels guarding the way to this, the boundary of the world. A wind sighed softly, carrying with it the scent of old blood and sakura, its voice burdened with a weariness that was strangely human.

As his hair was stirred; russet-gold strands brushing his face as tenderly as a lover, he remembered. This was the very same spot where the girl, Satsumi Saori, killed herself. She was part of a case they investigated some 20-odd years back; a case of demon possession that saw a teacher and two students killed, andSaori herself the unwilling host of the incorporeal demon and its 'child'. Driven beyond anything a young girl could possibly endure, she chose to throw herself off this very cliff, instead of giving birth to the parody that would have seen her killed anyway.

He had failed to save her. He had run after her but was too late. Too late to stop her from falling on to the hard, hard ground below and he blamed himself.

But even so, why was he here again? His last memory was of a fight; screams of denial and harsh truth slapping their faces and of green eyes telling him that all would be alright.

"Takashi."

He wasn't surprised to see Kyo standing by his side. It was after all, as logical conclusions go, a dream. And anything was possible in a dream. His Kyo was wearing his favorite black turtleneck and jeans. They were standing side by side, toes just brushing the edge of the cliff but no vertigo assailed them. He could feel the warmth radiating from his partner and he sidled closer in response. Kyo merely smiled, making no move to embrace him as he would have normally done, yet not making any move to back away either. But this was a dream so he pushed that oddity aside.

That, and the fact that Kyo's left iris was his usual pale, pale blue while the right was a blinding white, ringed with black.

But it's just a dream.

Kyo placed a hand on his arm and Takashi tilted his head closer, the better to hear Kyo despite the silence which was underscored only by the mourning wind.

"It's not your fault," Kyo said, smiling.

"I know it isn't," Takashi nodded. "But it is anyway." He had no idea what they were talking about but it was the right answer. He knew it deep inside himself, even if he didn't know what wasn't his fault in the first place.

"Silly Taka," Kyo replied, affection making the pale blue iris warm and the white even more brilliant. He lifted his hand, pointing to something beyond the cliff, beyond the well that waited to swallow innocent girls in its maw. Takashi looked to where the finger was pointing and he saw a miniature world; complete with swirling white on blue, the green and yellow of continents swimming in between.

"Do you see it?" Kyo's voice had taken on an urgent tone and Takashi felt sweat beading his spine in response, his heart speeding up.

"I see it."

"_Can _you see it?"

"I do."

For there, running from the northern right to the southern pole of the miniature world, was a crack. The line was jagged and deep, the color of blood oxidized, an egg cracked open and spilling out precious life. As he watched, the crack grew deeper, with spiderweb lines branching out that touched each continent, curdled white clouds to noxious black, and boiled blue seas into a noisome pus.

Kyo turned and caught Takashi's face between his palms. The left iris was slowly losing color as well, the blue leaching out and leaving behind white blankness, slowly matching the right. "You can't let it happen."

He nodded slightly; Kyo's grip was strong, almost painful, but he welcomed any sort of touch from his beloved. Be it pain, be it tenderness, what was important was that it was Kyo. Never mind that it was all only a dream.

"You have to stop me, Taka," Kyo said softly and he leaned in close. Takashi closed his eyes in response and was rewarded with a butterfly-soft kiss; an ephemeral brush that burned as cold as ice and it warmed his blood. "Remember that as well."

Takashi opened his eyes, despair flooding him as Kyo stepped away, his hands falling back to his side. Takashi reached out unthinkingly for his partner, already bereft by the loss of contact. "Kyo, I—"

"No!" Kyo's voice turned harsh and Takashi flinched. Kyo softened his tone but repeated, "No." He held up his hands, chest high, as though cradling something and a round mirror blurred into existence between his waiting hands. The gilded frame was ornately decorated; vines and leaves and flowers that beguiled the mind with their intricate shapes and delicate beauty. Takashi tried to follow the twist and flow but it eluded him, leaving him dizzy. Kyo speaking again brought back his attention.

His love's eyes were now completely white.

"Remember. You can't let it happen," Kyo said gently and the mirror showed a cracked world.

Takashi nodded, eyes drawn to the silvered surface of the glass, a pull stronger than Kyo's keeping his gaze locked on to the strange mirror.

"Remember, you have to stop me," Kyo said and again, Takashi nodded.

Smiling, pleased by Takashi's answers, Kyo closed the distance between them, still bearing the mirror which he raised to cover his face so that Takashi's own reflection met him.

"Remember, Takashi." The words came from all around him;from the wind, the ground, the silent trees, and from inside the mirror. "Stop it before it's too late."

And the mirror showed his face clearly, Takashi's face, and it showed hazel-green eyes drowning under spreading gold until theyglowed amber. 

But it's alright because it was just a dream.

                                                         *****************

Takashi opened his eyes to stare directly into huge, purple ones which were so close to his own that their amethyst drowned out all and any colors. It took the former sensei a while to understand and when he did, he yelped, a rather undignified sound for someone his age**,** and flailed wildly.

"Ack! Tsuzuki!" And promptly fell off the bed.

He popped back up again an instant later, scowling at the sight of a Tsuzuki who was rolling around on the messed up bed, howling with laughter.

"It's not funny," he complained plaintively. "You scared the hell out of me." 

Tsuzuki was gasping out half-sentences, laughing so hard that he was practically wheezing. "Y-your face! And—and--! Oh Enma!"

"Glad someone finds it funny," Takashi muttered irritably under his breath and sat morosely on the floor by the bed. Judging by the wheezing, it was going to take the older Shinigami some time to recover so he might as well wait it out.

A good whilelater, after breakfast which Tsuzuki had insisted he take despite protesting half-heartedly that he wasn't hungry, the two professors found themselves heading out into the cold morning. Tsuzuki was chattering a mile a minute, about anything and everything and the pointless banter was frankly driving the younger manup the wall.

"Tsuzuki! Enough already!" Exasperated, Takashi flapped his hands at the lanky Shinigami ambling along by his side. Maybe if he thought of the grinning idiot as an oversized house-fly, he would take the hint and buzz off. But no. There was a mischievous glint in the man's violet eyes, despite the pout that he wore.

"Ne, that's mean!" he whined. "Don't send me away. I'm so lonely without you."

"Oh, for the love of Enma -" Takashi swallowed the rest of the sentence and swore to himself that he wouldn't rise to the bait again. He crossly hunched his shoulders inside his professor's robes as they left the protection of the castle walls behind. The early November morning was brilliantly clear – and bitterly cold. Thick frost furred each blade of grass on the sloping lawn and sent traceries of white clambering like ivy up the ancient gray stone of the castle. The cold sky was the clear, unfriendly blue of approaching winter, but sunlight lent ruddy, warm highlights to the bright chestnut hair of his annoying friend. The thin breeze ruffled it and put color in Tsuzuki's cheeks. With a pang, Takashi imagined that same healthy flush on Kyo's face, and his stomach felt weighted down with lead instead of the couple of bites of dry toast that he had managed. 

He groaned, gathering his robes more tightly around him. How Tsuzuki could stand to walk around with his robes as usual flapping open was beyond him. Takashi was tempted to retreat back to the warmth of the fire burning on the grate of the staff room. "Aren't you cold?" he snapped, forgetting that he wasn't speaking to the other man.

Tsuzuki snickered, giving him a 'made you do it' look. "Nah. Professor Flitwick taught me a warming charm. I have to say that it was more work than it looked. I mean, compared to -" He might have prattled on indefinitely except that Takashi clapped a hand over his mouth. 

A student passing them on the path shot him a startled glance, and hurried on. Takashi stifled his rising irritation and said in a low voice, "I know what you're doing. And it isn't going to work." The two of them had come to a complete stop at the top of the path where they could chose to go right, toward the Forbidden Forest and Hagrid's cottage, or left down toward the Quidditch pitch. Making no effort to escape, the older Shinigami waited patiently for the doctor to continue. Takashi sighed. "It isn't that I don't appreciate it, Asato. You carried me back to the school after the whole mess with the Wild Hunt, and you sat with me the whole night. In fact, you've stuck to me like glue for over twenty-four hours now. So, surely, you can see that I'm just _fine_." He removed his hand. "Now you can talk, but only if you say something intelligent."

Tsuzuki's cheerful grin had morphed into a rueful but more genuine smile, and he shook his head affectionately. "I worry about you, that's all."

"And I appreciate it. But the only thing that's going to make me feel better is seeing that _Kyo_ is okay." he replied with some asperity. Tzusuki hooked his elbow through the younger man's and tugged until they were again in motion, following the hurrying students toward the oval of the pitch below.

"Maa, maa." Grin widening again, he kept his voice light but pitched quietly enough that no one else would overhear. "You know that 'Soka-chan is watching over Kyo-kun. He'll keep him safe."

Hope kindled in Takashi's hazel eyes, and he demanded eagerly, "What does Hisoka say?" He had forgotten that his two friends could – and did – communicate telepathically. Or maybe it was a willful forgetfulness since he had no such luxury to soothe his own loneliness.

"Hisoka said that he didn't get to talk to Kyo yesterday, but that he was back in the dormitory by bedtime last night. The poor boy must have been exhausted to sleep so deeply, as Hisoka didn't sense any distress from his aura." The kindness in Tsuzuki's voice wrapped like a balm around the auburn haired man's soul. For the first time in days, Takashi felt some of his concerns dissipate. 'Some' being the keyword. A deep uneasiness was coiled deep in his guts, a black snake that was waiting to strike when he was least expecting it. He felt that there was something he was missing**, **but exactly whathe just couldn'tput a finger on.

"What else?" he asked instead, choosing for the moment, to ignore the deep pit that gnawed worryingly.

"Not much. He hasn't called me this morning yet. I think he's exhausted from the overexposure to the Wild Hunt. He can't seem to stop himself from overdoing things." Affection made Tsuzuki's voice indulgent. Takashi chuckled. If the handsome boy being discussed had been present, he would have shouted 'Baka!' and shown his mate just how much 'overdoing' he was capable of. And then Tsuzuki would whine and complain, and Takashi would tell them to go get a room. Predictable, but it was still a fresh wonder in his mind that the two had been fortunate enough to find each other.

They had reached the level ground surrounding the pitch before formless worry reared its ugly head again and assailed the doctor. "Are you sure there wasn't anything else? Hisoka didn't sense anything amiss the night Kyo went walkabout, either."

"Takashi," interrupted the older Shinigami. "Kyo was _sleep_walking. Hisoka figures that whatever dream he had been having started innocuously enough, and that's why he missed it. But now he puts up an extra ward at night, so he'll wake up if it happens again."

Shivering, Takashi pulled his arm away from his friend's. He drew his hands into the sleeves of his robe. "I'm sorry. I just can't get this feeling out of my head that there's something I'm missing. Something big, just barely under the surface." He was so sunk in gloom that he missed the way Tsuzuki flinched. The older man opened his mouth to reply, but the chance was lost as cheerful shouts hailed them.

"Oi, Professors! D'you mean to watch us practice?" The Gryffindor team surrounded the two Japanese, and Tsuzuki was again laughing and joking. Takashi forced a smile as well.

Ron was proudly showing off his new vice-captain badge, the miniature silver lion roaring and prancing about. Takashi was momentarily distracted by it, his mind wondering at the oddity that was the wizarding world. Doesn't _anything _stay still? The portraits moved, the photographs were like silent movies, and even suits of armors and badges disdained to keep quiet. But soon enough his attention was caught, and his worries renewed, by a head of messy dark hair that hovered quietly at Ron's side, a small genuine smile basking in the face of Ron's pleasure.

Takashi frowned, drawing nearer and discreetly tugging at the red sleeve of a Gryffindor Quidditch robe until its owner detached himself from the crowd milling about the easygoing professor. Tsuzuki was happily launching into some absurd explanation of a proposed combined Defense Against the Dark Arts and Care of Magical Creatures class for Monday. Normally, the former doctor would have cringed at the glee in his tone when his friend said 'summoning' and 'minor demon' in the same breath, but his attention was focused on a certain boy instead.

"Harry," Takashi said quietly, aware that even through the noise and joyous bantering, Ron was watching them closely from the corner of his eyes. So was his sister, Ginny. "What are you doing out of the hospital wing? Did Madam Pomfrey allow you to go?"

Harry ducked his head, grinning sheepishly as he scuffed his shoes against frozen grass. "Yeah... kinda," he mumbled.

Takashi sighed, laying a cool hand against Harry's forehead. The boy, as expected, jumpedslightly at the contact but didn't draw away, a good sign for him. Thankfully, Harry did not have a fever and overall, he looked fine, even if his eyes were a bit too bright behind those ugly glasses. Takashi made a mental note to. . .'persuade' the boy to get a new pair of glasses when they were in Hogsmeade. Surely such a hideous design must be against the law?  __

"You look fine," he conceded reluctantly and Harry's grin grew then faltered when he continued, "But. . .there's something off." He cocked his head to the side thoughtfully, taking in the bright glimmer and the suddenly pale skin.

"Harry?" he asked gently, tipping the boy's chin up with a finger, unconsciously mimicking Snape's gesture the night before. "Are you alright?"

Harry blinked rapidly, trying to meet his eyes, the bright green orbs shadowed with what Takashi recognized with ease as the remembrance of old pain.

"I," Harry rasped, "I had a. . .a dream last night." The slight emphasis Harry put on 'dream' alerted him to what Harry was trying to say without anyone else becoming the wiser. The former sensei winced, grief darkening his eyes. He allowed his hand to cup Harry's cheek briefly, sending him a small spurt of warmth. It wasn't exactly a form of empathy but it got the message across. The shadows in Harry's eyes lifted until he was once again just a 16 year old boy ready to have fun with his friends.

"We'll talk later, okay?" Takashi smiled and Harry nodded shyly in response. "Good. Now have a great practice and please," here, he put on an exaggerated grimace, "Try to not do another Wrinkly Feint thing." __

Harry laughed, drawing the attention of his teammates. "Professor!" he chided lightly. "It's _Wronski_Feint."

"Whatever," Takashi rolled his eyes and retaliated by ruffling Harry's already messy hair. "Go on, you little imp."

Still laughing, Harry joined his teammates and with a whoosh, 14 brooms kicked off, bright red figures soon dotting the expanse of the sky. Takashi watched them for a few minutes, Tsuzuki by his side, as he kept track of a small boy on a black broomstick. He might have watched longer but for a sudden pounding behind his eyes that made him wince, hand darting up to knead his temples.

"Headache?" Takashi did not hear the alarm in Tsuzuki's voice, only the worry.

"It's nothing bad," he sighed, still kneading. "It'll go away in a bit."

"And I'll bet a cup of hot tea wouldn't hurt." Firmly, Tsuzuki latched on to his arm and proceeded to drag him back to the castle. "And maybe some of those 'scone' things, with clotted cream, or maybe lemon curd. . .?" 

Takashi submitted to the manhandling with a small groan. The senior Shinigami's care was a soothing balm, deprived as he was of Kyo's presence and Takashi allowed himself a small smile, despite the headache and despite Tsuzuki pulling him along like a little puppy on a leash. Right now, a cup of the hot steaming brew (green, as he was feeling a bit homesick) and some scones would be nice. With clotted cream.

                                                      ***************

Hisoka was not ashamed to admit that he was scared.

And with very good reason.

The clearing they were in was only a rough circle of frozen grass, ringed by skeletal trees that stood guard. This was their regular spot for their early morning sessions; far back enough into the forest that neitherHagrid nor the castle's inhabitants would spot them, yet not deep enough to tempt the creatures that prowled in the shadows. On any normal day, they would have been sweating by now; the byproduct of a good workout; and would haveperhaps engaged in one or two impromptu challenges. Neither could deny the thrill of one and more than once bets had ridden on the outcome.

Yet the sun had peeked timidly over the horizon, unsure as to its welcome and neither of the men had exchanged even one blow.

_Maybe it's because Kyo is busy trying to scare the shit out of you, _a little voice pointed out helpfully and Hisoka managed to contain a self-derisive snort at that. _And it's bloody damn well working, _he thought sourly.

Kyo, despite his earlier. . .insistence that Hisoka hurry up and fight, had done nothing but to circle his friend, a hungry shark eyeing its prey and wondering which appendage should it bite off first. The head? The arm? His sword, the naked steel shining with cold indifference, was held in a lackluster grip, pale fingers just barely curling around the hilt. But Hisoka was not fooled into complacency. Kyo, who was not descended from a dynastic family as the Kurosaki which demanded that its heirs be trained in the way of the warrior, was still a talented fighter. Hisoka would not hesitate to admit that on a good day, Kyo could give him a run for his money. Properly aroused, Hisoka would not even want to voluntarily cross blades with him.

That slack grip could just as easily change, lightning-quick, and the tip of the sharp sword which was dragged through the frozen grass could just as swiftly be aiming for his heart in the next instant.  It did not escape his notice that Kyo's blade was now shining with more than just reflected light; power thrummed through the steel and the tip left behind a trail of softened earth and burnt grass. Swallowing hard, Hisoka turned on his heels, keeping his own blade straight out, a stance that was good for instant defense as he tracked Kyo's every movement. Kyo ignored the sword which kept a steady guard on him, continuing to circle and circle until the blond empath felt ready to scream in frustration.

"Kyo," Hisoka tried, wincing as his voice cracked, "What's going on? What's wrong with you?"

Kyo did not bother to answer but went on circling, circling, circling.

"Please, Kyo! We can talk this out. Whatever you have to say, I'll listen! We n—"

"Hisoka."

The reedy whisper that produced his name froze his words, clogging his throat with the sharp ice of dread. Kyo never stopped his relentless circling but his face, which had been devoid of expression, even the earlier rage, now bore a mockery of a smile. A smile that did nothing to reassure Hisoka. It was an empty smile. A facial expression whose intent was suspicious to say the least.

"Hisoka." Kyo kept on saying his name in that singsong tone, one that grated his ears like nails across a blackboard. Beads of sweat trailed down his temples, dampening his light blond hair.

"Kyo, I—"

"Shh. . ." 

Hisoka gulped, eyes widening.

"You wanted me to talk. So you'll listen, ne?" Kyo cocked his head to the side, that empty smile growing. The empath was forcibly reminded of a clown; a grinning monstrosity.

"You said that we were cursed by becoming Shinigami. You were right you know. We're cursed cursed cursed," Kyo sang softly.

"W-w-why do you," Hisoka faltered, "Why do you say that?"

Kyo finally stopped his incessant circling but it did nothing to reassure Hisoka. If anything, the fear that was curdling his stomach turned even sourer until he felt as if his insides were nothing more than pools of hot acid. Kyo swayed dreamily from side to side, eyes half-lidded and the empath was forcibly reminded of a Kyo chained in paper ofudas like a demented mummy, standing in judgment before the powers of Meifu.

"I watched my parents die, did you know?" He did not wait for Hisoka's answer but went on, still in that dreamy, almost childlike tone. "And I died for Takashi because that's what you're supposed to do for the one you love. And then I became a Shinigami. And Takashi joined me, the silly man. But that's how love works. All you need is love," Kyo giggled.

The giggles died and the smile faded, leaving behind a cold mask and pale blue eyes that snapped open, impaling him with a stare that held just the bare vestiges of sanity. Kyo's grip on his sword changed and the blade was held upright as Kyo crouched lower, his stance changing to an offensive one.

"We did our duty as Shinigami," Kyo hissed, never taking off that cold stare from his sweating friend. "We killed when we were told to! We bled when we had to! We did _everything _so that we could stay together in death but apparently, _it wasn't enough!_"

"Kyo, pl—"

"I lost count of how many people I killed! How many I've condemned to perpetual darkness! _And it still wasn't enough!"_

Hisoka took a desperate gamble then. He lowered his sword, a hand reaching out futilely to his friend; the gesture an eloquent plea to be heard. "Please, Kyo, whatever it is, I'm sure Takashi can help you! I can take you to him and—"

Again, he was cut off. This time, by Kyo's shrieked denial. 

_"I want nothing from the one who betrayed me! He abandoned me when I needed him!" _Kyo shut his mouth with an audible snap, shaking his head wildly as one trembling hand cradled his suddenly aching head. "What?"

Hisoka stood in mouth gaping horror. The sword felt too heavy in his forever young hands and the burden of this new danger too heavy for his frail shoulders. His breath hitched, mouth working soundlessly.

But dear Enma, what happened next spiked fear in his heart like nothing before. Kyo ceased his trembling and raised his head slowly. His pupils were dilated, the black eclipsing the too-pale irises as another clown smile scarred his face.

"What am I saying?" Kyo asked himself, voice eerily soft. "Takashi would never do such a thing. Silly Kyo. Silly, silly Kyo."

Hisoka was shaking so badly his sword rattled. The sweat running down his back chilled him and the perspiration on his palms made his grip slick. He swallowed hard and made what had to be one of the hardest decisions in his life. 

Hisoka raised his sword.

Kyo did likewise, the clown smile widening. "Shall we dance?"

                                                   ****************

Being a Seeker definitely had its disadvantages at times, Harry decided gloomily. While the Chasers, Beaters and even the Keeper chased after Quaffles and dodged murderous Bludgers, they were keeping warm. While he, as well as the reserve Seeker, Criss, froze themselves as they flew in slow circles, looking for the elusive Snitch. The scrimmage had been going on for a good half hour, with no sign of the fluttering golden ball as of yet and Harry had the sinking feeling that it was going to be one of those games that would drag till dinner.

"Seamus you prat! That was my head!"

"Well you might want to keep a better watch on it then!"

Harry groaned, slumping dejectedly over the handle of his Firebolt. The teams were in a strange mood. Rather than letting the cold dampen their spirits, it had done otherwise; Chasers were practically pummeling each other for possession of the Quaffle while the Beaters seem to think that anything moving, be it human, broomstick or Bludger, was fair game. On top of it, Criss had decided that the only way to find the Snitch was to dive pell-mell into the fray, perhaps forcing the golden ball out of hiding while yelling a war cry that sounded suspiciously like "Kill kill! Die die!"

"Getting tired, Captain?"

Harry raised himself up wearily, finding Ginny hovering a few feet besides him. The redhead had on a thick woolen cap and fingerless leather gloves which didn't seem to offer much protection as her digits were turning a worrisome blue at the points. Her cheeks were flushed red with cold as well and Harry couldn't help but notice that the blush enhanced her coloring, rather than clashing horribly with her hair as it tended to do with Ron.

"Gin," he smiled tiredly. "How are you holding up so far as Chaser?"

"Not bad," she nodded to the melee that was still going on below them. "Though I think someone had too much caffeine this morning." 

Harry groaned. "You think so? I thought I was just imagining it. What is wrong with everyone?"

There was a furious shout and the remaining Chasers suddenly broke free, bright red figures zooming manically and converging on Claire Magali, a fourth year who now had the Quaffle tucked possessively under her arm and was laughing gleefully as she dodged Eria Stone's Bludger. The brown haired girl shouted, waving her Beater's bat in frustration as Claire scored.

Harry frowned, worrying the whistle he kept on a string around his neck. "I think I should call off the play. Things seem to be getting out of hand."

Ginny stopped him, placing a small hand on his arm. "Wait. Give them time first. Maybe they'll work out the aggression soon."

Harry swallowed, heart suddenly beating madly as he noticed how delicate Ginny's fingers were and how light her touch was. How on earth does she handle the Quaffle as well as she does anyway, Harry wondered silently. By appearances alone, Ginny looked far too fragile for such a rough sport but the grin she flashed him dissolved anysuch notion. That grin contained a world of merriment and quite a bit of mischievous sparkle. However she looked like, she wasn't at all fragile. After all, this was the girl who survived the Chamber of Secrets and the Department of Mysteries. She was tough.

_Why did I start noticing that? _Harry thought to himself. _Why is it suddenly so important that I realize that there's more to Ginny Weasley than just the youngest of seven siblings? More than just Ron's sister in fact?_

"A Knut for your thoughts?" The teasing voice broke through his reverie and Harry twitched, red flooding his cheeks.

"Ah," he stalled, looking around frantically, all the time aware of the knowing smile that Ginny wore. "I was just thinking that maybe we could. . ." Merlin knew he was babbling but he couldn't help it. He had a tendency to do that around Ginny a lot lately.

He searched the pitch below him, trying to find a good subject change when a strange sound caught his attention.

"Did you hear that?" he asked sharply, totally forgetting his earlier embarrassment. He twisted around in his seat, trying to pinpoint the source of that sound.

Ginny too was looking around, but with a puzzled frown on her face. "Hear what?"

A sweet, metallic chiming faintly reached their ears. It was clearly audible in the still, frozen air, despite the fact that it had to be coming from some distance away. "What's that?" Ginny asked curiously. Harry hovered near her, his grip unthinkingly tightening on his broom's handle. That noise. . .It pulled at him. 

"I don't know. . ." he answered slowly. The strange sound, too asymmetrical to be the ringing of a bell, was coming from the near fringes of the Forbidden Forest. Without thinking, he backed his broom away from his teammate and zoomed off in a broad arc toward the source of the sound.

Hagrid's hut, and the small, fenced enclosures where he sometimes kept subjects for their Magical Creatures class, flashed beneath him as he settled into a low, fast run. His course skirted the thinner, more tamed border of the Forest. Trees and shrubs, all limned in glittering frost skimmed by mere feet below him. As he flitted past each clearing, he scanned it for anything that could be generating the noise that drew him like a magnet. Ginny's shouted plea for him to _Damn it, wait up!_ was largely lost in the wind of his passage. The cold air tore at his nose, making it run. Harry strained for the luring beacon, stretched out along his broom.

There! A flicker of motion up ahead drew his eye. He circled an opening in the trees, shedding speed as he dropped toward the ground. A bright gleam of silver drew his gaze, and Harry identified it as a _sword_, of all things, being swung two-handed by a dark figure. The accompanying _shing_ reached him as another form, clad in blue, parried. As he circled, Harry realized that it was Kyo, and Hisoka, and they were dueling with slender swords that glittered in the early morninglight.

Both boys were dressed in odd, full skirts that reached to their ankles, and wide sleeved shirts. Kyo's clothing was black, while Hisoka wore shades of blue that suited his fair coloring. They were focused with single-minded intensity on one another, and had been for some time to judge by the way their hair was plastered down with sweat, and the frozen ground was trampled. Frost and autumn seared shades of brown and gray provided a backdrop for a deadly serious battle. Harry hovered indecisively, drawn to their duel, but at the same time convinced that he oughtn't to be there, watching.

The two Japanese boys separated, facing one another. Kyo was breathing hard, his pale skindrawn tight over the bones of his face, pale eyes burning with an almost feverish intensity. He gripped his sword with hands that trembled visibly, sending shivering reflections from the bright steel of his blade. Slowly, he brought it up into a stance where the blade was pointed nearly level at Hisoka. Hisoka was breathing just as hard, though he kept his face impassive. Both boys froze in their stance, swords hovering expectantly.

Harry, as tense as the fighters below him, waited for. . .something. 

Sweat dripped down Hisoka's face, plastering his fringes and he shook his head irritably. It seemed to be a cue as the blond raised his sword, slicing up and across Kyo's torso. Kyo retreated instinctively a hairsbreadth beyond Hisoka's reach, and in a single fluid motion stepped in for a counter attack. The razor sharp tip of his blade sliced the front of Hisoka's shirt, parting the light blue fabric to reveal a white undershirt. Hisoka's lips twisted into a silent snarl as he sidestepped. Steel met steel with a sharp, discordant _ching_, sliding past as Kyo twisted into a desperate save. But when he tried to step back, to disengage, Hisoka followed. His blade was raised level with his shoulder, flat toward the ground, and it angled sharply as he thrust through Kyo's back. The red streaked tip emerged from Kyo's chest as a startled gasp burst from his mouth. Kyo's eyes rolled back and he slid bonelessly off of Hisoka's blade.

"Kyo!" Harry screamed. He flung himself off of his broom before he even reached the ground, stumbling on impact. The slow motion, dreamy quality of the duel dissipated into a fast forward nightmare: Kyo folded into an ungainly heap on the ground, blood, red on the frost-whitened earth, spreading out from under him. Hisoka's head snapped up again, startled. He hadn't sensed Harry's presence.

Screams of rage from up ahead gave Ginny a clue as to where Harry had disappeared to. She had lost him rounding a bend in the tree line, just past Hagrid's, and then wasted precious time dipping low into each secluded clearing in search of him. Whatever the quality was of those bright, shivering sounds that led Harry so unerringly was beyond her. She was forced to search with ordinary senses for the trail. And now, the sound had stopped, and instead there was screaming. Her heart in her throat, Ginny dove down through a gap in the trees, into a roughly oval clearing.

Ginny stared wildly. Harry was on his knees, trying to gather Kyo's apparently lifeless, limp body into his arms. Beyond him, Hisoka stood, sword sagging in his outstretched hand. The blond was shouting furiously, "Stop it, Harry! It's not what it seems!" He took a step toward the dark haired pair on the ground, faltering when the English boy recoiled. Blood, brilliantly scarlet, ran over Harry's white hand, dripping to the trampled, frost seared grass.

"Why! Why did you hurt him? I thought he was your friend!" Harry screamed back.

"He is, damn it! If you'll just let me explain--" Hisoka stabbed his sword into the ground and abandoned it. He tried again to reach out a hand. Harry snarled at him.

"_Don't_ you touch me! I've seen you use your powers on Kyo. You're not going to make _me_ forget about this." His embrace tightened around Kyo's shoulders, the other boy's head lolling uncomfortably back over the crook of his elbow. Ginny made an inarticulate sound of protest, wanting to help, but afraid to get too close to the boys. It attracted Harry's attention, and he shot her a sharp look from green eyes that threatened to overflow with tears and wild rage.

"Ginny, get Madame Pomfrey. Tell her it's an emergency. Then go find Professor McGonagall and tell her to. . .to. . ." The girl nodded mutely, hearing what her friend and teammate was unable to say: _Tell her to come armed._ She whirled, throwing herself onto her broom and into the air, even as Hisoka's frustrated shout of "Stop!" rang out behind her.

"Harry," The blond was growing increasingly frantic. "Kyo is fine."

"How can you say that?! He – he's dying, if he isn't already dead! You murderer!" Railing at the younger of the Japanese, Harry felt something snap, deep within him. He laid Kyo's limp body tenderly on the ground, and launched himself at the other boy, fully intending to pummel him into a paste. Hisoka's green eyes widened in surprise, and then he was dodging a punch, slipping under Harry's arm. He caught the English boy by the elbow and turned, bracing his hip against the taller youth, and doing _something_ that resulted in Harry going briefly airborne without the benefit of a broom. He hit the ground with a hard thump that knocked the wind out of him.

Harry ignored his own wheezing and frantically scrambled to his feet, determined to finish what he started but suddenly stopped. Hisoka was kneeling over Kyo's prone body, one hand pressed against the still bleeding wound. But those vibrant green eyes were focused on him, instead of the friend he just murdered.

Gently, as though trying to calm a wild animal, Hisoka held out his other hand, palm facing him.

"You'll see Harry, it's going to be okay." Saying so, he dropped his gaze back to Kyo and chanted softly, the words obviously magical as the wind suddenly picked up. Harry could sense a vibrancy to the wind, almost a tang that tasted metallic on his tongue. Dumbfounded, Harry could only watch as the blood which had been steadily pooling around Kyo's body slowly receded, like a film played backwards. Sluggishly, the red red blood was sucked back in and, as Harry crawled over disbelievingly to check with his own eyes, the gaping flesh that looked _too real _slowly closed, the broken skin and muscle healing. Harry froze, a faint gurgle bubbling at the back of his throat when Hisoka wove the same magic on him and the blood that stained his already scarlet robes disappeared as well.__

There was a second or two of silence, underscored by Harry's faint whimpering when the black clad form stirred. Blank eyes blinked open slowly as Kyo brought a hand up to rub his face. He coughed, effectively startling Harry out of his daze and the boy immediately launched himself at Kyo, hugging the older youth tight around the neck and almost sobbing with relief.

"Oh, god, Kyo! I thought you were dead! There was so much blood and—and," Harry babbled, finding comfort in just letting his mouth run off on its own. The boy he hugged slowly raised himself into a sitting position, Harry mindlessly following but it finally occurred to Harry that something was still. . .wrong as Kyo made no move to hug him back.

Suddenly apprehensive, Harry dropped his arms, moving back and looking at Kyo, then Hisoka uncertainly. There was a grim set to the blond's mouth, making him look achingly old beyond his years. Kyo though, was staring at him, still with that blank expression on his face as though he had never met the English wizard before.

"K-kyo?" Harry said falteringly.

Hisoka placed a cold hand on Harry's shoulder, causing him to jump in surprise. Hisoka ignored his reaction, instead, pulling him back and away from Kyo one-handedly as his free hand fumbled for his sword.

"Move back, slowly," Hisoka instructed, keeping his voice soft.

"Hisoka? What's going on? What's wrong with Kyo?" Harry was starting to get frightened. There was something _off _with Kyo. And it scared him badly. Kyo was still sitting there stone still, his hands flexing, curling and uncurling like an agitated spider. Harry opened his mouth, unsure of what to say but definitely sure that he had to say _anything _before whatever it wasthat was causing his stomach to clench painfully like that made itself known. Hisoka had reached his sword and was still pulling Harry away, keeping his gaze trained on the zombie-like Kyo.

A flock of brooms came streaming in low over the trees then, led by a Ginny who was flying with a grim determination that she seldom even brought to a Quidditch match. Close on her heels were McGonagall, Madame Pomfrey, and a confused mass of some of the bigger and brawnier seventh year Gryffindors who had obviously been pressed into service as an impromptu police force. Hisoka shot them a quick look before he stood up, hand falling away from his sword and taking a step back from the confused Harry. Hisoka said nothing as he was surrounded, his slight shape engulfed by his captors. 

"Mr. Shiozaki," Professor McGonagall snapped. "What exactly is going on here?" 

That eerie blank stare was directed at the professor who blanched suddenly, hand going with remarkable speed to her wand. "Mr. Shiozaki!"

 "We were having a practice fight," Hisoka spoke up from the middle of the cluster he was surrounded in. "It got out of hand, Harry saw it, and panicked. There's nothing wrong."

Madam Pomfrey was kneeling before Kyo, tugging open the torn collar of his outer shirt. "Minerva," she interrupted. Her tone was grim. "He's been run clean through, but the injury has been healed already." She stuck a finger through the tear in the fabric and wriggled it, her fair skin clearly visible against the black cotton. "There's another on his front."

Silence descended over the clearing as Professor McGonagall strode briskly to the fallen swords, picking one up with all the care she would have shown a live snake. She sniffed the blade delicately, her thin nostrils flaring yet no one laughed.

"I smell blood," she declared. She swung around to face Hisoka, revealed only as a pale face amidst the taller seventh years. "Gentlemen, please escort Mr. Kurosaki to the Headmaster's. Poppy, I'll help you take Mr. Shiozaki to the infirmary where you can give him a proper. . .check." There was an ominous ring to the last word that had Harry's eyes widen. But before he could say anything, Madam Pomfrey was already gesturing to the other students still milling around and they herded Kyo back in the direction of the castle. Hisoka followed his captors, silent and uncomplaining.

Feeling lost and alone, Harry discovered Ginny by his side, the girl's face so pale that her freckles stood out. He was sure that he could have counted each individual dot if he wanted to. Ginny slipped her hand into his and squeezed reassuringly. He managed a small smile, unconvincing at best, when McGonagall turned to them, her face stern.

"Mr. Potter, Ms. Weasley, please follow me. The Headmaster would like to hear your account of the events, I'm sure.

The two of them followed her silently.

*****to be continued*****

**A/N: **Me and **Librarycat**had this certain scene all planned out and what you've read is barely the beginning. She was right when she said it's going to take a few chapters just to cover that scene. . . .man.


	22. Chapter 22:Into the Valley of the Shadow

**Title: **When Death Comes a'Knocking: Book One – Of Revelations

**Plot Mistresses: **Shiozaki, Shaynie, Literary Eagle, Librarycat

**Spell Researchers: **The talented, too-kind people of the Yahoo!Group, shadowsofthefox

**Warning: **Major spoilers for **The Kojiki Trilogy Part I: Come To Me**. It's your own fault for not reading it anyway ___

**Scene Master: **Shiozaki but especially Librarycat *kisses!*

**Review replies:**

**Quatre**** Winner, Yui-mag, darkness1315, Kodomo Hikari, hitomibishop, cmquietone, not so innocent bystander, Tenshiamanda: **Really, what's with all these death threats to Harry? And thank you everyone else! Especially the old crowd. It still amazes me that you guys are still sticking with me so far. Cheers!

**Tatsuken****: **Thanks very much for the heads up on brit slangs! ^___^ It's nice to see your name popping up so regularly now. Are you on the mailing list? It'd be nice to get to know you better. Or you can just say hello in the reviews ^__^.

**Lilo****: **Whew, glad you liked it in the end. You're not the first to ask for Tsuzuki and Hisoka and I'm glad I could finally offer that. Though, there was an evil part of me that didn't want to. . .hehe! Thanks very much for your comments. It's gratifying to have readers pick up on the plot devices we leave out.

**Hitsuji****: **Your secret's safe with me ^___~

**Dani****: **We never actually said that the Tuatha de Dannen are a British legend. It is merely what they call the British counterpart of the Shinigami. We feel it's safe to call them that as the British Isles is rich with lore from a multitude of cultures. Thank you for taking the time to point it out though. ^____^

**                                                                  Chapter 22**

**                                                   Into the Valley of the Shadow**

The mediwitch saw Shiozaki's pale eyes darting side to side; he made no comment overthe fact that they were moving past the rows of empty beds to a door at the very end of the infirmary.

The room beyond the door, opened with a tap of Pomfrey's wand, was not very large, maybe half the size of the Gryffindor's sixth year dormitories. It contained a bed, a small couch, and several armchairs. Not waiting instructions, Shiozaki sat himself down on the edge of the bed, hands folded demurely in his lap, watching with those unnerving pale eyes as Pomfrey made herself busy, taking out bottles of potions, measuring, weighing and stirring.

Professor McGonagall stood at the foot of the bed, her wand never wavering and if possible, her mouth thinned further.

"Here you go!" Madam Pomfrey said brightly and immediately winced. She sounded too cheerful, too forced, and the noise was almost sacrilegious as it broke the waiting silence that blanketed the room. She stood before Shiozaki, a strained smile on her face and held out a goblet filled with a light green liquid that fizzled.

Pale blue eyes blinked slowly, a deliberate move as Shiozaki curled one fine boned hand around the goblet.

"What is this?" he asked softly, never taking his eyes off the mediwitch.

Pomfrey's smile grew more fixed, practically brittle. She had seen Shiozaki and his friend around school, the professors as well, but had never interacted with them saved for that time they killed the manticore. That one meeting had left her with the impression that Shiozaki was someone warm yet strangely reticent. He had seemed uncomfortable being in the hospital wing but she had put it down to simple nerves. Overall, her opinion of him was that of a normal young man.

But the Shiozaki who now sat before her was a complete stranger. Those eyes stared right through her, piercing her soul and she shivered lightly before that cold gaze. Their fingers had brushed briefly as he took the potion from her and the contact sent icy tingles down her back.

The boy _scared _her. 

So Poppy Pomfrey then did something she had never, ever done in her career as a mediwitch.

She lied to a patient.

"It's just some healing draught, dear," she chanced patting his shoulder, meant to be a comforting gesture but one she regretted instantly. Shiozaki felt _cold._ "I just want to make sure that your. . .ah, wound healed properly."

Soot black lashes swept down, veiling that frigid stare for which Pomfrey was eternally grateful. McGonagall inhaled sharply. The professor had been teaching accident-prone students long enough to recognize most basic potions by sight and smell. What the mediwitch claimed to be a healing draught was anything but. It was in fact,  a fairly strong sleeping potion. It was not in the range of Dreamless Sleep, but definitely powerful enough to knock anyone out cold.

"Poppy. . ." she hesitated, hand held out but it fell back to her side an instant later. Like Pomfrey, McGonagall too felt the wrongness in Shiozaki. And like the mediwitch, she was afraid. So she kept her silence.

Shiozaki watched the potion swirl lazily in the goblet as he shook it gently. Bubbles broke the surface, amusing him perhaps since he chuckled. But without complaint, he quickly downed the potion, making a slight face at the taste. As Pomfrey took the empty goblet from him, alarm crossed the young man's face. His eyes widened and he surged to his feet suddenly, ignoring McGonagall's sharp order to sit back down.

Pomfrey gasped, backing away as those cold eyes fixed their glare on her.

"That wasn't a healing draught!" he choked out, swaying unsteadily on his feet. "What did y—"

He never got to finish his accusation as his eyes rolled back. Pomfrey quickly caught him before he slumped to the floor and together with McGonagall's help, settled the Japanese on top of the covers. Neither woman talked as each fussed unnecessarily over slack limbs.

                                                     **************

Funny things, dreams are.

You never know when you might be in one. One minute you're asleep, in all sense of the word dead to the world and quite happy to be so. If you could have felt anything when you're dead that is. But generally, the human body does not mind sleeping. And generally, the human subconscious does not mind dreaming. 

Through dreams, you are able to absorb the day's events, letting your mind sift through new knowledge, readily assimilate it and prepare your body and psycheto meet a new day.

And dreadful things, nightmares are.

You never know when a peaceful dream of a picnic in the clouds would turn into you getting sucked through the mawof a monster, blackness given life and voice as it screamed your name and condemned you to a hell made by your own mind.

_No no no. Please, not again. Please._

Pleading was useless. After all, who would answer it when you're caught in your own creation?

_Hands, deceptively gentle, slid the yukata off his shoulders, the cotton fabric rasping against his suddenly sensitised skin._

_No, Enma, no.__ Help me. Please!_

_"You are so beautiful, Kyo. . ."_

_Enma__, help me!_

                                                      *********************

The door flew open with startling force, stopping just shy ofslamming into thehard stone wall. A rush of wind accompanied the sudden motion, setting loose parchment fluttering and eliciting a surprised squawk from Fawkes. Takashi was well aware that he might have made a trifle too dramatic of an entrance. But embarrassment be damned. His magic was a _naga_ stirring restlessly beneath his skin, longing to lash out and hissing dark encouragements to let go, to punish those who _dared _to set hands on his Kyo. 

Dumbledore should consider himself damn _lucky _he still had a door.

A hand settled on his shoulder, giving him a brief warning squeeze.

"Gaman, Takashi. _(Takashi, patience.)_"

"Nara kachi ga are agemasu. _(If they deserve it)._"

Dumbledore waited for them in his sanctum, ensconced safely behind the huge mahogany desk, blotter free of waiting letters and reports, quills tucked carefully away. Arrayed on his left, dark scowl etched permanently, was Professor Snape while on the Headmaster's right, Harry and Ginny each fidgeted in paisley armchairs. Harry's head shot up at Takashi's entrance, green eyes shadowed with worry and not a little bit of fear. Even with the added height gained over the summer, Harry managed to look lost in his armchair, swallowed by the cloying pattern.

"Harry-kun," he acknowledged after his steps carried him into the space that waited before the Headmaster's desk, Tsuzuki trailing behind. His agitation was enough that he lapsed into the familiarity he was careful to onlyshow when no suspicious professors or friends were around. It might have been a mistake, if the bushy eyebrows the Headmaster quirked were any indication, but currently, Takashi refused to acknowledgethe little mistakes. "Are you alright?"

Harry jerked his head in one brief nod, face still pale as he exchanged glances with Ginny. The youngest Weasley, Takashi recalled, was one of Harry's friends who were still wary of the Japanese; a caution that Takashi found endearing for it marked her care of the boy. But that could be addressed later. As much as he longed to wipe that frightened look from Harry's face, other matters come first. Namely, Kyo.

"We were informed that you have placed our companions under house arrest," Takashi rapped out to Dumbledore, noting grimly that the old wizard did not offer them a seat just yet. "Why?"

Dumbledore smiled benignly, a move to unsettle the skittish opponent but Takashi and Tsuzuki had been Shinigami for more years than either of them cared to count. The Headmaster's disarming tactic only fuelled their wariness, causing Tsuzuki to slip into place beside Takashi, fingers just barely brushing his. _Be careful. _

"Lemon drop?" Dumbledore asked mildly, a nod of his head sending the glass jar of yellow sweets floating in their direction.

Takashi's eyes narrowed and the jar shot back, skittering on the polished surface of Dumbledore's desk. "No, thank you," he replied rather belatedly. "I asked you a question, Headmaster."

"Of course, of course," Dumbledore nodded his head foolishly and Takashi had to wonder whether the old man was merely persistent or surprisingly ignorant. Did he really think that his senile old man act was going to work on them? Maybe force them to spill the truth and beg on hands and knees, please, no more lemon drops!

The _naga_hissed softly, settling into thick coils and watched with glittering obsidian eyes.

"Your companions are quite well, rest assured, although we did have our doubts for a moment or two." Dumbledore waved his wand and two, similarly ugly, paisley armchairs appeared behind the two Shinigami. Which the both of them ignored.

"And why is that, Headmaster?" Tsuzuki asked quietly.

"It seems that Mr. Kurosaki was, ah. . .quite intent on killing Mr. Shiozaki."

A pregnant pause inserted itself, a heavy fog that was an almost visible presence as Dumbledore and Snape imperceptibly leaned forwards in their seats, waiting for a reaction that would give them away.

_Patience, patience.___

Takashi gave them a blank stare. "You must be mistaken," he said flatly. "Hisoka-kun would have never harmed Kyo."

"Even with two witnesses?"

Takashi took in the sorry form of Harry and Ginny from the corner of his eyes. Harry, not surprisingly, looked extraordinarily guilty, as though what had transpired was his fault. Takashi controlled the urge to heave a deep sigh. They really need to work on Harry's guilt complex, Takashi mused silently to himself. The boy was going to give himself ulcers before the age of twenty.

"Granted," he acquiesced with a nod, "They saw what they did. But surely Hisoka would have explained himself."

"Professor Matsumada, according to Harry, and backed by Ginny's account, Mr. Kurosaki indeed stabbed Mr. Shiozaki. With a sword nonetheless. A very fine seventeenth century piece," Dumbledore added. The implication was there, unspoken; why is it a student, of all people, owned such a dangerous weapon in the first place? "Though Mr. Shiozaki's was quite exquisite as well."

"Kyo and Hisoka regularly practice together," Tsuzuki replied softly when Takashi made no move to. "They are accomplished in the art of _kenjitsu_."

"So what you're saying is that you find it perfectly reasonable for Kurosaki to go around stabbing friends?" Snape interjected, his voice smooth and low. His dark eyes glittered with a strange exuberance that did not bode well for the Shinigami. 

"I'm sure Hisoka has a good reas—"

"And the fact that Shiozaki managed to survive a potentially _fatal _wound is part of _kenjitsu_as well?"

Takashi was getting heartily sick of ominous retortsand sorely tempted to shove the jar of lemon drops down Snape's throat. Something of the impending violence must have shone through for Dumbledore again raised his wand, only to reveal a door behind Gryffindor redvelvet hangings that swung open. 

A familiar blondstumbled out, eyes blinking in the sudden light and Tsuzuki surged forwards with a cry of "Hisoka!"

The boy was quickly engulfed in a hug. "Oof! You idiot! Let me breathe!" Tsuzuki, with a small whine did so, holding the boy at arm's length. The slice that parted the light blue shirt where it overlapped into two halves was clearly visible.

"Is it true?" Tsuzuki asked tersely. 

Hisoka nodded reluctantly, eyes darting between each occupant of the room in nervous agitation before it settled on the silent professor. "Takashi," Hisoka pushed himself out of Tsuzuki's grip, halting before the Shinigami who stared at him with impenetrable eyes. "There's something wrong with Kyo. He was acting weird and I couldn't read him at all. All I got was something about a letter. Do you know anything about that?"

"No," was the grim reply.

Takashi wheeled about and strode to the headmaster's desk where he planted both hands firmly. The thud of flesh hitting the hard surface made Fawkes twitch with startlement on his perch, and Dumbledore had to exert his will to prevent himself from jumping as well. Takashi ignored Snape when the Potions Master's wand appeared in response. "I need to see Kyo."

"Not until you explain matters first."

"After I see Kyo!"

Snape jumped to his feet, eyes still glittering. "After what your partner'sdone, you dare to makedemands ofus?! Hogwarts' students could have been hurt!"

"Were they?" Takashi demanded and answered for the professor. "No, they weren't!" 

"That is beside the point! Y—"

The fire burning in the hearth flared high, turning into an emerald blaze. Everyone froze in their places, looking at the hearth expectantly. But they did not expect a near scream to issue forth from the flames. It was instantly recognizable as the Madam Pomfrey and by the sound of it, there was trouble.

"Headmaster! We need you in the infirmary! Now!"

                                               ******************

The split second of indecision on Dumbledore's face was really all the incentive that Harry needed. That eerie tug at the back of his mind, the one that had led him so swiftly to the duel in the Forest, was operating again at full strength. It told him that he needed to move, and fast. While the adults in the room sorted themselves out, the slim boy slipped from his chair, past the arm that Tsuzuki shot out a moment too slow, and dove for the fireplace. Even with the instinctive tuck to his shoulder, striking the stone hearth _hurt_, and then he was through, rolling out in a cloud of soot.

The look on McGonagal's face would have been hilarious if it weren't for the rush of pain and terror that slammed him flat. 

Coughing, Harry staggered to his feet, eyes automatically searching for the source of the intense wave of emotions. 

Before he could take in more than just broken bottles and spilled potions, someone slammed into him from behind, causing him to fall flat on his face with an "Oof!" Harry groaned pathetically, half-convinced that he broke a vital bone somewhere when the weight on his back increaseddrastically. It seemed that everyone had decided to use the Floo at once and the resultant tangle of limbs would have been funny if it was under different circumstances.

"Poppy, I--dammit!"

Hearing Professor _McGonagall_,of all people, swearing brought home the seriousness of the situation. Harry scrambled out of the mess of curses and robes, blindly reaching out and pulling Ginny and almost falling back on his rump when the girl suddenly came free. The both of them were breathing hard, from adrenalin and panic. Whatever had caused their Head of House to swear like that  couldn'tbe good.

"Oh, Merlin!" Ginny gasped, hand covering her mouth. "Harry!"

He quickly turned and what he saw made this morning's breakfast of toast and eggs curdle in his stomach.

Kyo was still clad in his strange shikifuku-like garments, not in the standard issue pyjamas that Madam Pomfrey was fond of. The black-clad figure should have been resting peacefully but instead, his friend was thrashing in silent agony that was all too familiar. Kyo was caught in a nightmare.

The mediwitch caught sight of Dumbledore who just got to his feet, glasses skewed. "Headmaster!" she shouted. "Calming spells are not working! They just bounce back!" Indeed, the very air around Kyo was shimmering with iridescent colours; rainbows that danced and writhed ominously and once, even shot out a spark. McGonagall was standing off to one side, clutching her side and wheezing. By the look on her face, Kyo must have gotten her good. Even Pomfrey didn't dare to restrain Kyo physically. Magical restraints, logically, would not work if whatever it was that was happening bounced back spells.

This time, it was Takashi's turn to respond by instinct. He scrambled clear of the crush at the fireplace, caught his foot in someone's robe, and crashed flat on the floor. The sudden impact changed whatever he had intended to say into a sob of pain. It intensified as he realized that his arm was being drawn up and back at an agonizing angle, pinning him to the floor more effectively than the weight that settled across his hips. "L-let me. . .up!" he gasped, bucking against the restraining hold.

"Taka! Oof! Idiot—" The weight shifted, straddling him, and the sting of magic turned to a cold paralysis. Tsuzuki, his voice uncharacteristically rough, had slapped an ofuda to the back of his head. "You can't touch him - not now! He's lost control."

"Y- you can't know that! Please, let me go to him." Tears welled in his eyes and Takashi squeezed them shut, horrified at the begging note. Closing his eyes was very nearly the only movement that the older Shinigami had left him, and damn it, it was terrifying and humiliating to be incapacitated. Worse, Tsuzuki simply ignored him. Pressure eased from his numbed back, and he heard the suddenly authoritative man addressing the rest of the room's occupants.

"Get back, all of you, if you please. I will put a kekkai around him." The crisp rustle of rice paper was lost in a high, shattering note, more vivid than that of breaking glass. Tsuzuki's startled oath was cut off by his impact on the floor, skidding into a chair in a screech of wooden legs on stone. The talisman holding Takashi disintegrated in a rush of heat that singed the hair at the nape of his neck, but he didn't care as he again flung himself into motion. 

He pushed Pomfrey aside and ignoring the flailing limbs, tried to hold Kyo down; one hand restraining his head, the other flung across his torso in an attempt to control the wild bucking.

"Why isn't he awake?!" Takashi shouted to Pomfrey, adroitly ducking a fist that grazed too near his jaw.

Pomfrey stood to one side, watching helplessly as Takashi struggled with Kyo. Dumbledore and Snape were holding back as well, unsure of this new development while Harry found himself held back anyway by Hisoka, Ginny similarly restrained by Tsuzuki who was watching the struggles with haunted eyes, a little worse for wear from his encounter with the floor. "I-I. ." Pomfrey's words caught, guilt lending the bright glimmers of tears to her eyes. "I gave him a sleeping potion!"

"You did _what?!_" The shock Takashi allowed to overtake him almost made him lose his hold. Grimly, Takashi ignored all forms of proprietary and got on to the bed, almost straddling Kyo in his effort to pin the boy down. "He wouldn't have taken a sleeping potion voluntarily! Did you force him?"

Pomfrey kept on wringing her hands, taking little steps forward, then back.

"Pomfrey!"

She jumped, wand clattering to the floor. "I lied!" she cried out. "I told him it was a healing draught!"

Shock and anger chased each other successively over Takashi's face. His mouth thinned into a grim line and the look in his eyes promised that he would be having a talk later with the mediwitch. He was almost lying flat on top of Kyo but the added weight made little difference with Kyo's ferocity upping. Takashi shouted over his shoulder, "Hisoka! Can y—"

Then the dream crashed over them.

                                                   **************

_Bright flickers, like a strobe. Dark, then light. Darkness, then vision. Only, the vision was blacker than any darkness could ever be. A hand stroked lightly over his chest, turning for a cruel pinch to his nipple. Nails changed from an erotic scrape to agony that pierced through to his gut, ripping. Scourging. Burning. Crimson hair in a shade so dark it was nearly wine ghosted fleetingly over his naked stomach, lower onto his crotch. Its silken touch whispered like an aria, only one felt rather than heard. His senses reeled as that hair left in its wake pain so pure that he was sure he would never breathe again. That he would die. No, wait. He was already dead. Damned. Akuma's damned and broken plaything, lost in the nightmare of caress and curse, of exaltation and damnation. He was broken, and beyond redemption._

_But Taka. . . .__Taka was there. And he shouldn't be. He had to do something about that, couldn't let himself fall into damnation before he could send Taka away. Taka shouldn't be seeing this. He could hear that beloved voice screaming in rage and anguish, both sharper and sweeter than the pain dealt to his poor body by the clever, clever pale hands, or by the disease of the curse, eating him from the inside out, the burning in his blood. Akuma's slender steel fingers laced into his hair, wrenching his head up into a parody of a lover's kiss. His tongue battered its way into Kyo's mouth, ugly with the taste and scent of old blood, an iron rust reek that made his stomach churn, even as the firm pressure of another hand stroked its way over his quivering abdomen. _

_The urge to vomit came from both inside, and out, driven by taste and scent, and a touch that his frightened mind screamed ought not to be there. His protective gauze was fraying; being torn by those razor sharp fingernails that scored his pale skin with bloody stripes. Soon, all too soon, his mind would come face to face with the truth of the demon pressing him down into the velvet cushions. And worst of all, though his mind stayed numb, incapable of mobility, his body responded: a quickening of breath, the flushing of pale skin and the hardening of his arousal._

_"Kyo-chan. . my beautiful sacrifice." A harsh, gasping voice, rough with unholy desire stirred the hair over his ear. "Such beauty shouldn't go to waste, ne? It should be tasted and enjoyed. . .by everyone."_

A high, broken keening hurt Harry's ears, was driving through his skull and down his spine. Never mind that the sound was coming from himself; it was too harsh for his brain to contain, his mind scrabbling for purchase on a slick surface. No, wait, those were his hands. The pain was excruciating. _Oh Merlin, I'm going to be sick. Have to throw up_. Harry tried to wrench himself away from the slender, strong arms wrapped around his torso, scrambling on his knees, retching. Everything in his stomach, the memory of everything that had ever _been_ in his stomach spewed out on the floor, a nasty taste of bile in his mouth, searing his nose. _Can't stop.__ Oh Merlin, it **hurts**._

"Takashi!? You have to make him stop!" Hisoka's scream was so high and frightened that is was barely recognizable as belonging to the slight boy, but Harry felt the thrumming vibration through his back, through those arms hugging him so tightly that his ribs hurt. He was crying while his stomach heaved, already empty. One of Hisoka's hands, clammy with cold sweat, shifted to his forehead, tried to settle onto his skin, but it hurt so much. A horrible, rending pain shot through Harry, making him double up. Panicked, he tried to back away.

_What was he doing? Merciful Enma make him stop. Hurts. Make him stop. Hurting. __Me.__ Oh gods hurts. He's kissing me and his knee is between my legs hurts WHAT IS HE DOING?! Taka, Taka, make him stop. Stop looking at me, Taka. Don't look oh Enma take me. Red hair and blood on his hair and mouth. The taste of it I want to die. Screaming. Pain. Tearing me in half. Hot wetness, blood. His hair red and white skin and. . .Silk of his robe sliding over my knee. Slippery with blood. He's thudding into me driving me through the sofa oh Enma agony. My body is moving with him. Wanting. I hate you! I. Hate. Myself. God no, no stop pain get away from me stop. Dying. Killing me._

A tumbling murmur of words that he didn't understand, and a hand that was cool against his feverish forehead dragged Harry out of the nightmare sensations. He was on the floor. Someone was wrapped around him, a ragged, gasping voice chanting even as that hand warmed on his skin. Kyo wasn't gone from his mind, not by a long shot, but Hisoka was muffling the raging flood with cool, gentle touches, and the soft words that his mother might have used, if he had ever been able to know her. Another presence joined them, both brighter and sadder, mixed with a shimmering fire of echoing pain and agony and through his connection with the smaller blond, Harry recognized it as Tsuzuki and Ginny. 

The older man knelt gracelessly on the infirmary floor, pulling both boys into his arms, turning it into a group hug as Ginny burrowed into it as well. Harry buried his face into carelessly half-open robes, breathing in sandalwood cologne and feeling the frantic beat of another human's heart under his cheek. Ginny was by his right and she was cuddled into him as he was into Tsuzuki, a warm, reassuring presence even as she dripped tears on to his robes.

Somewhere above him, he could hear the desperate shouts of people, could just separate Professor McGonagall's precise tones from the enraged shouts of Professor Snape and the excited cries of Madame Pomfrey. There was motion and furious activity, and all he wanted was to bury his face in that rumpled white cotton shirt and shut it all out.

_Kyo's__ hand, mercifully distanced from the pain of reality, groped for and found the slick smoothness of a red-black knife. The hilt was indistinguishable from the unnaturally shiny blade, and it was warm to the touch, body warm. Something in his motion telegraphed itself to the man lying on his chest, and the bone-pale form rolled with snake-like speed out of the way of the plunging blade. But it didn't matter; the blade bit deep into his own chest, just missing his feebly beating heart. Blood, too red and bright. . . party-garish. . . welled from the wound, trickling over his ribs in something that distantly tickled his weakening body. It grew from a tickling trickle to a flood, soaking the already soiled cushions beneath him._

_It was his blood that was pumping out and it was his own agony that he was feeling as the double wave of the curse and the knife wound tore through him. Blood, warm and rich, rendering slippery the hand that still grasped the knife hilt, even though the blade was completely buried in his flesh. Distantly, Takashi was screaming "No!" but he couldn't stop, not even when the honey gold, deceptive eyes of the demon looked down on his dying._

_ "Why did you do that for?" _

_Kyo coughed, red bubbling over, smearing stickily down the smoothness of his cheek. Akuma grasped the knife, but Kyo's hands stopped him yanking it out. Instead, the boy reached up and pulled the man down for another kiss, this time, the bloody flavor of Akuma's mouth mingling with Kyo's own. . ._

_Agony twisted his lips into a parody of a sweet smile, but despite the pain, his intent was nearly affectionate. "By flesh and by earth do I punish you." Bewilderment widened the demon's eyes. It became comprehension and horror. Too late, he tried to push himself out of the boy but tendrils of pure power, crackling and glowing a blinding white encircled them, chaining them together. The only sound in the room was the snap and crackle of those chains of pure energy and the half-shrieks of Akuma as he tried to claw his way free from Kyo's deadly embrace but to no avail. The bonds were too strong and his struggles became those of a wild animal, mindless in frenzied violence._

_"By breath and by air do I punish you."_

_The stench of burning flesh rose, and the face inches above his own twisted grotesquely with pain and horror. Akuma whimpered._

_"By blood and by water do I punish you."_

_"By life and by fire, do I punish you."_

_  
The screaming had stopped._

It was over.

The sudden cessation of the battering sights, sounds. . .of the nauseating cooked smell that his mind insisted was of a friend's burnt fleshleft Harry dizzy. He lifted his head, ignoring the sticky crust that stuck his lashes together into clumps, ignoring the stuffy, heavy feel of his aching head. Kyo was unmoving in his bed, the only noise from that direction the exhausted, muffled gasps from the auburn haired man half lying across him. Reluctantly, Tsuzuki let go of the boys and Ginny, Harry helping her to her feet. The weary professor got up and offered a hand up to his smaller partner. Hisoka accepted, clinging to him longer than was strictly necessary.

"Is. . .is he okay?" Harry whispered hoarsely, gesturing at the pair on the bed. Tsuzuki shook his head.

"I don't know. That was bad." The older man shuffled over to the foot of the bedstead, intent on seeing what he could do to help. Stunned, the assembled wizards and witches could only exchange confused glances. None of them knew what to make of the violent fit, or its abrupt ending.

Takashi lifted his head, registering Tsusuki's approach. He cried out, "No! Don't touch him!" 

Hands raised placatingly, Tsuzuki took a step closer anyway. "Takashi," he said urgently. "Last time, we used our inborn—" 

"No!" The sharp word was as emphatic as the shake of his head. "Not here! We can't. Not this time."

"Takashi. . ." Hisoka's voice was thick; it resisted him as he tried to force the words out around his uncooperative tongue, past the nausea that threatened to choke him. "Kyo is projecting. I don't know how many people are getting his nightmare first hand, but it probably spilled past the wards on this room." He flicked a glance at Madam Pomfrey, noting how she paled and brought her wand up. The protections on the infirmary were very, very old, and strong. They had to be in case the fever dreams of a frightened patient slipped loose to hunt the halls of the school. But they were nowhere near enough to contain pure elemental magic. The Head Master placed a gnarled hand over the mediwitch's white-knuckled grasp, pity clear in a face that suddenly looked its age. But it didn't stop his mind from wrestling with the threat to his school, to the students in his care, even to the foreign visitors.

"Ab Igne Caelesti." Dumbledore whispered. _From celestial fire..._ His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He looked between the Japanese, and gave a sharp nod as an obvious conclusion presented itself. "Poppy. . .allow me. I know just the way to contain this," he murmured. She gave him a single, jerky nod, and lowered her wand. Dumbledore drew his own from his sleeve, its slender silvery length gleaming in the growing twilight. The wand left faint, glistening trails arcing through the air as the elder wizard gestured to each of the room's four corners, his lips moving silently in a swift spell.

 Hisoka relaxed infinitesimally as the background roar of distressed students cut off into blessed silence. The wizard closed his gentle blue eyes for a moment, and the young empath felt a tingling rush of power. "Minerva, you will take the east. Poppy, the west. Severus, you are north, and I, I shall take the south." 

_Of course, he's casting a version of the Four Quarters. . . That should limit the damage Kyo can do._ Hisoka blinked wearily. South would be the phoenix, which was certainly appropriate for the aging master wizard. And the dark northern dragon suited the angry man; its scales blended with the black rage that trembled just under the surface of his aura. West linked the watery undines with the brisk physician, and east placed the sylphs of the air with Professor McGonagall. He wasn't quite sure that the ethereally delicate creatures suited the stern professor, but seeing them darken and gather the power of a storm cloud around them, perhaps it was best, after all. Water was steadier in its influences, and air more volatile. The spell even reminded him, just a bit, of the yin-yang of onmyoujitsu. . .male and female, light and dark, balanced. Although, he had had no idea from his reading that Western magicians could mingle their power in a joint casting like that. . .very interesting, really. He would have to look into it a bit more... but later. He desperately needed a nap first. 

Harry and Ginny were more than a little surprised when the slender blond boy beside them swayed and mumbled, ". . .interesting. Gotta. . .later." And then quietly folded into a heap. Tsuzuki caught him before his head could crack on the hard, tiled floor, sinking down with that pale form cradled more than half in his lap. 

Ginny asked quietly, her voice low and husky with tears. "Is. . is he okay?"

Gentle violet eyes, their normal good humor dimmed by anguish met hers, and Tsuzuki managed a weak, lop-sided smile. "It's okay. Hisoka is just tired. He never likes to admit that sometimes his body isn't up to the demands of his spirit." The dark haired man shifted his grip, settling the exhausted boy against his shoulder as one arm hooked behind Hisoka's knees and herose easily. He rubbed his chin and cheek lovingly against the soft golden strands of hair, then carefully laid the boy on the lone sofa the room contained. His hands continued to stroke that fine hair until Snape's sharp tones interrupted him.

"Am I to conclude that this is _not_ the end of this little drama?" he sneered. From where Harry still knelt on the floor, Ginny cradled protectively in his arms, it seemed to him that the tall man towered over them. The potions master shot him an unpleasant scowl, placing the blame squarely on Gryffindor, and the boy had to force himself not to flinch.

Takashi did not turn to face Snape's accusation, content at the moment it seemed, to gaze down his partner with sadness plain in every tired line. But he answered it anyway. "His nightmares are not mere drama professor," he said quietly, mimicking Tsuzuki's tender gesture and brushing Kyo's hair softly.

"Nightmares? Or visions?" Dumbledore silenced the black clad wizard with a mild frown. Subsiding, Snape gave him a tiny nod of acknowledgment. 

Takashi went on brushing those fine strands of black hair, to all intents and purposes, ignoring the Headmaster. Dumbledore frowned, about to speak again when Takashi answered him in a voice that was little more than a whisper yet managed to seep into every corner of the hushed room.

"It was a case we were working on. A human had managed to turn himself almost completely into a demon. He thought Kyo was beautiful." He stopped there.

Snape exploded. "Morgana's bastards! Are you telling us that—" He stopped short, his pallid complexion taking on a sickly color. His black eyes glittered with more than the dragon of the north's fury and Harry was very glad that the volatile emotions weren't directed at him.

"He was raped," Takashi affirmed quietly. "Right in front of us. And I couldn't do a thing to stop that demon." He gave a short bark of laughter, bitter and sharp and it made Harry wince and Ginny to shiver in his embrace.

"But I could help afterwards. In small ways. He hardly gets any nightmares when he's sleeping with me." There was no blame in that statement yet Harry could clearly see Dumbledore flinch, his face paling at the implication of inadvertently causing a student, even a foreign one, such agony of mind.

"Even so, I thought. . .we thought. . that he could hold on. He had to. There was no choice. We thought we were doing better than this," he gestured vaguely at the infirmary, sunk in gloom as the magical candles guttered. Across from him, Tsuzuki started, eyes widening as though he had suddenly thought of something so obvious that he didn't know why it hadn't occurred to him before. Dumbledore shot him a quizzical glance, one shaggy eyebrow hiking toward the rim of his ridiculous hat, but Tsuzuki shook his head emphatically. Whatever it was, he wasn't going to reveal it to the British wizard. At least, not in front of Kyo's distraught husband.

"And for this reason you think we ought to _allow_ you people to roam around here?" Snape whirled toward the Headmaster, his heavy robes nearly winding themselves around his legs at the forceful motion. "The boy cast an unbinding on a scale that. . .that _any_ mature wizard would be proud of. And cast it while he was _dying_ from the effects of a demon's curse! And you still think we can trust them to roam the halls here? Just how many of the peculiar events of this past term have they been the _cause_ of?!"

"Now, Severus. . ." Dumbledore began quietly, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. "I think—"

"No! Do not 'now, Severus' me! We know nothing of these people, of their motivations—" Furious, exhausted, the man was working himself up to a fine rage, and intended to have his say regardless. 

"We're here to help you fight against Voldemort," Takashi cut in quietly. He was still studiously avoiding anyone's eyes, his own locked helplessly on Kyo who, while quiet, still had lines of pain bracketing his mouth.

As a result, he missed the astonishment and suspicion that chased in rapid succession across the Potions Master's lean features. But the distraction didn't save him from Dumbledore's knowing "Ah. . ." The elder wizard smiled with satisfaction. 

Takashi looked up to meet mild blue eyes that regarded him fondly. "So, that's what it is. I had wondered what secret the four of you were keeping." Takashi flinched.

"You have to understand," Takashi began wretchedly, hunched over Kyo as though what he was going to say will hurt the unconscious boy he sheltered. "We're compro—" he stopped suddenly, eyes going wide as he jerked his head down and around to his silent partner. "Tsuzuki!" he practically screamed. "Get Harry and Ginny out of here! Now!"

Tsuzuki didn't bother to ask why. In a fast move, he ran to the two stunned teenagers and swept them in his arms, carrying them easily and moving so quick, neither had the chance to object. The two students found themselves unceremoniously dumped just outside the warded room, the door slamming shut in their faces and a sharp tingle that warned them that the wooden door had subsequently been sealed with magic.

Inside though, minor pandemonium was on the verge of breaking loose. Pomfrey was wringing her hands again, asking Takashi in a shrill voice whether she could help while Snape and McGonagall both tried to drown the other out as they vied to make their questions heard. Dumbledore was trying vainly to calm them down when he caught sight of what Takashi was doing.

"Professor Matsumada!" his shocked tones silenced the two bickering professors more effectively than splashing them with cold water. "What are you doing?!"

The bed on which Kyo lay, the boy now showing signs of another round of eerily silent convulsions, was ringed with the ethereal glow of a brilliant green circle and pentagram which was slowly gaining in intensity. It was obviously ofTakashi's making as the writings inscribed in the wards were not Latin, but Sanskrit.

All of them could feel another surge of the dream-wave building up but this time, it was noticeably sluggish, like seeing visions through a soupy fog. Takashi's wards were muffling them, trying to cut off the dreams all together but one last burst caught them like a punch to the guts, causing Professor McGonagall to retch helplessly in a corner and Snape to pale further.

_"Kyo-chan. . .my beautiful sacrifice."_

*****to be continued*****

**A/N: **To _really_ grasp the significance behind the dreams, Kyo's breakdown and general nastiness that will ensue, it would be really helpful if you've read **The Kojiki Trilogy. **That's not to say that you HAVE to read it, just that it will give you a better appreciation of the nuances in this story. But no worries, you can still enjoy this as a standalone.

Fair warning though; not everyone would be able to enjoy the meaning behind the part concerning the gods (soon). And I do not torture my characters for the fun of it. There's a reason behind the madness.


	23. Chapter 23:Double edged, the sword of Ve...

**Title: **When Death Comes a'Knocking: Book One – Of Revelations

**Plot Mistresses: **Shiozaki, Shaynie, Literary Eagle, Librarycat

**Spell Researchers: **The talented, too-kind people of the Yahoo!Group, shadowsofthefox

**Warning: **Very disturbing imagery. We are not responsible for any vomiting or queasiness on your part. And read between the lines. Don't expect us to spell out everything.

**Scene Master: **Shiozaki & Librarycat

**PLEASE READ THE FOLLOWING:**

_A reviewer, Lilo, has brought up an issue which I've been waiting for a long time for someone to ask. Why is Kyo so easily breaking down? But first, and this I address to Lilo and any other who feel the same; that is, why can't Kyo get over his rape?_

_So let me ask you this; Can **you **easily forget it if you ever were raped? Rape is perhaps one of the cruellest form of torture man can ever devise. It's more than losing your virginity, it's losing control. You were betrayed by your own body which responded to the unwanted touch of another. It's the fact that **knowing **that another human being can actually have that much power over you, to make your body react when your mind is screaming 'No.'_

_After such an. . . .incident, can you ever trust the touch of another? Can you ever **truly **believe that it won't happen to you again?_

_It's the same for Kyo. He might be a fictitious character, but I'm sure the reason you people love him is because he's so **real. **And that's how I'm portraying him. But Kyo does have another reason for why he's breaking down so easily. The clue is in the conversation between Enma and the other gods._

**Feye**** Morgan: **Oh, I _love _your reviews! You're very perceptive as well, even after reading only the first part of the Kojiki Trilogy. The sleeping potion's evil twist was that it was **not **a Dreamless Sleep. That means it actually brought Kyo to the state of REM and we all know that's the dreaming stage. His reaction was so severe because on normal days, it is, but the potion made it that he can't wake up and as such, can't escape. Evil me.

**Jasper tears: **A too-uke Kyo? ____ Is your impression of this due to his fast spiral downwards? As I've said before, there's a reason for my madness (in more ways than one. . .) and for Kyo's. Try out this chapter first and see if you can get the reasoning which we refused to spell out exactly that's the reason for Kyo being as he is. Thank you for taking the trouble to point it out anyway!

**Tatsuken****: **Your honest enthusiasm for this story has never failed to amaze and humble me. It's a feeling that's hard to describe, knowing that what **I **wrote has such an impact on someone. Thank you, Tatsuken-san, for giving **me **such joy! And yes, I've been influenced by a lot of fanfics that seems to agree with me; Dumbledore really loves his lemon drops! (PS: I'm Malaysian by the way.)

Will Takashi admit to them being Shinigami? Ah, but they don't have any reason to. Not yet. *evil chuckle* Think about this little tidbit I'm revealing especially for you; there's a reason why Book One is titled; Of _Revelations_. In more ways than one. And hey, why don't you sign up at my mailing list? The address is on my profile page. Sign up there, show up, and leave me a message. That way, I can give you my email address easily. I don't give it out here for privacy reasons.

**Ann, Sakusha-san, Winter & Gentleman **(my favourite siblings!)**, tenshiamanda, Lilo, cmquietone, Phoenix 3:16 **(what does the 3:16 means?)**, hitomibishop **(Hitomi-saaan!)**, Yanagi-sen: **Thank you for all the praises and damnations! *giggle* Some of you have asked me some very interesting questions about the story (Lilo, if I answer everything you asked, there won't be a story left!) but, as I've reiterated many, many times, I don't believe in painting it out in 20-foot high letters what the plot is. If I do that,, where's the enjoyment in it for you? So **read between the lines. **Conversations are not meaningless drivel here, nor is the rest of a chapter. Even chapter titles and the story title itself have a reason behind it.

**                                                               Chapter 23**

**                                        Double edged, the sword of Vengeance is**

Izanami, shewho was one of the Creators of the World, sat upon a riverbank. The river into which she gazed was one of many in their Realm yet it is also the only one. Contradictions and paradoxes. The Realm of Immortals is all that and more. If she wanted to, she could change the very landscape with a mere 'what if.' But she doesn't. Because she is Mother and all mothers know that children must eventually be let go and learn to live on their own. Because even the emerald grass that she sat upon was born of her Wish and thus, it is one of her Children.

So is the river. Izanami loves this river with perhaps, a little more feeling than the she has for her other Children. None would begrudge her it because they understand. The river's surface was a window to the Realm of Mortals and Izanami has spent many an hour gazing into it. Out of the billions of mortals that the window could show her, she has ever chosenonly two and only these two will she ever look for.

_"Minerva! Grab hold of his legs!"_

_"Spells aren't working!"_

A whole night and morning's work of Weaving had been spoiled, the embroidered light disintegrating when her attention remained fixed on her Beloved. Her Kyo. She had gazed uninterrupted into the water for hours (if time could be measured where time does not exist) and as the scene in the waters unfolded, her face grew bleaker. The curtain of white hair framed her increasingly pale face as she leaned farther over the water, her concentration rapt and unwavering.

_"What in Merlin's name is wrong with him?!"_

She blanched, recoiling as though she had been struck. "Fools." Her whisper rang out over the water, brushed the blades of grass and sighed between the trees. One tear slipped down her already stained cheeks, softly rounded and perfect to splash on to her white-knuckled hand as she dug her fingers into the soil.

"What have you done to my Beloved?"

There was a rustling behind her, from the direction of their Hall and the steps were quick and agitated, the grass bowing and giving way silently. A hand settled on her shoulder, encased in luxuriant robes of champagne threaded with white, for Izanami herself had woven this very robe for her Husband and used her own hair to adorn it with beguiling patterns.

"My love, I sense something amiss. What has happened?" Izanagi, a Creator, a Father and Husband to Izanami, asked. The goddess could not speak for the tears clogging her throat. In answer, she moved her arm in a wide half arc over the scene flickering in the stilled water and the window expanded further.

_"Headmaster! We need you in the infirmary! Now!"_

Izanagi dropped heavily at her side, a sharp intake of breath his reaction. Side by side, white and amber, Izanami and Izanagi watched silently as their Beloved sufferedin silent agony as his dreams echoed within and without. They watched, haunted, as Takashi, another of their Beloved, tried and failed to stop the dreams.

"Takashi will not be able to stop his Dreaming this time," Izanagi said, voice betraying his weariness. Almost unconsciously, his fingers drifted over the water, tracing the shaking figure of Takashi who grasped Kyo tightly to him despite the boy's convulsions.

"They were supposed to be _happy_," Izanami said wretchedly. "They deserve that at least. Why is Father subjecting them to this? Haven't they been through enough?"

Izanagi did not answer her and she let out a desperate cry. The goddess moved swiftly, about to plunge her hands into the water when Izanagi intercepted her quickly, pulling her back and away.

"No!" she cried out. "Let me go to him! We'll _both _go to them! Takashi needs you as much as Kyo needs me!"

Izanagi caught her in a warm hug of rich robes and quickened breath. She hid her face in the embrace, mewling pathetically. "Please!"

Izanagi rocked her gently, stroking her fine hair and murmuring words of nonsense and comfort. _We've been around mortals for too long, _Izanagi chanced a wry thought, _for us to act like this. But we cannot deny that Kyo and Takashi hold our love and affection. And that we will do anything for them._

"Dear heart," Izanagi said softly, releasing her to cup her face gently, using his thumbs to wipe the tears still flowing. "We cannot interfere directly, but—" he cut her off when she opened her mouth to protest, "But we can help them."

Izanami studied his face carefully, searching for the hope he had offered. "Father?" she asked.

"Father," Izanagi replied grimly. The sadness in his amber eyes were replaced by hard determination and even his long amber hair seem to spark fire. "He has much to answer for."

Izanagi blinked slowly, assessing his words and hearing what was unsaid. She nodded once, the same inhuman determination halting the flow of tears and straightening her bowed shoulders.

"Come, dear heart." Izanagi got to his feet, drawing up Izanami with him. "We have both been remiss in our filial duties. I'm sure Father would be overjoyed to see us."

                                                     *****************

Matsumada's spell-casting continued doggedly, his voice low and rough with pain. The construct he tried so hard to raise was labouring under the opposingforces the Headmaster had come to recognized as Shiozaki's brand of magic. The boy's power was suffocating any other magic not his in the room and Matsumada's pale face, strained and sweat streaked, attested to that.

A second voice, rising in a ragged, whispered chant broke through the thickening air. The strange, foreign words settled into place beside Matsumada's, like a matched team of horses drawing a single carriage between them, and the eerie green illumination of alien magic strengthened. Dumbledore snapped around with the alacrity of a much younger man, to stare at the other Japanese professor, Tsuzuki, who stood in front of the couch on which his unconscious partner lay, head lowered and arms outstretched. A fine net of burning emerald light uncurled from his fingers and formed another circle around Shiozaki's bed, just outside Matsumada's. It trembled with half seen script, fighting for stability. 

The last of the room's guttering candles flickered out, sending up thin trails of smoke that writhed in the unquiet currents of air. And Tsuzuki's ward went out as well, plunging the room into a darkness that abruptly flashed brilliant gold and red as the _sakanagi_ of the failed spell rebounded. Caught in the sudden light, Tsuzuki's eyes and mouth opened wide in astonishment as his head and shoulders struck the wall with a sickening crack and he slid to the floor.  

Pomfrey shrieked and darted to the fallen man. The Headmaster almost failed to recognize the startled oath that he heard as issuing from his own lips, but there was no arguing with the fact that they were, indeed, in a great deal of very serious trouble. The pentagram and circle cast by Professor Matsumada were scarcely glowing at all, drowning in the suffocating murk. 

"Albus?" He recognized the Scottish burr of McGonagall's insistent cry. "Can you reinforce the FourQuarters?"

"I shall most certainly try—" the Headmaster shot back. The frail hand gripping his wand tightened and began the intricate dance of rebuilding and shoring up the protections on the room. As he did so, the temperature around him fell and his breath became a shimmer of ice crystals in his wand's glow. Dumbledore spared a worried glance for the younger couple on the room's only bed; Shiozaki's silent struggles were all the more heart breaking because he showed no sign of recognition for the slim man who wrestled with him. A random punch struck Matsumada but he hung on grimly, his ward persisting though it barely shone brighter than dull embers. Dumbledore wrenched his attention back to the task at hand.

"_Aduivo__._" A low, velvet voice wrapped around him just as two cold white hands enclosed his clenched wand hand in a merciless grip. The Headmaster's shaggy brows shot up in surprise. Considering the source, the offer of aid wasn't all that unexpected, but still it was a difficult thing for one wizard to willingly give access to his command of magic to another. It represented a measure of trust that warmed an old man's heart.

"Severus, my boy. . .Are you sure?" Dumbledore searched Snape's pale face, rendered even more gaunt and unattractive by the blue-white wand light. Eyes turned to hard chips of obsidian glared down at him, and his thin lipped mouth twisted into a snarl. 

"Damn it, man, just _do_ it!"

"Very well then. Poppy, Minerva. . .Places, my dears." Dumbledore snapped. Pomfrey cast an anxious glance at Tsuzuki but hastened to obey. McGonagall, standing straight and tall, was already in place at the room's far side. At the Headmaster's questioning glance, she nodded grimly, her own wand at the ready. Automatically weighing their relative positions and Snape's aid, the appropriate modification to the spell unfolded clearly in the older wizard's mind. He moved their joined hands through a complex knot, and closed the incantation with a shout, "_Semper__ ad Sanctum Centrum. Esto!_

                                                     *****************

Enma sat in his Hall as usual, robes carefully arranged to display the gold thread work to itsbest advantage, courtesy of his attendants. Though he mightbe the Lord of Death and Judgment, Enma had learned a long time ago that to argue with his attendants that it doesn't really matter if his sleeve was laid _that _way was useless. He supposed that he ought to be grateful that his attendants' enthusiasm was limited to his appearance. If they got it into their heads to take his job, he might actually give it to them, so adept they were at silencing his weak protests.

Enma sighed, settling into his cushions and staring off into space. That odd feeling, like cold fingers running up and down his spine had intensified in the last hour, something he had been experiencing for the better part of a day. His Shinigami were in trouble. And he coulddo nothing about it.

"Father."

Enma gave no start of surprise as two figures materialised at the foot of his dais. Clothed in respective amber and white, enhancing their unnatural coloring, Izanami and Izanagi eyed him as tigers would a deer; potential meal time. He hid a wince. 

"Children," he acknowledged their presence with a small smile. A wave of his hand and the couple seated themselves gracefully, enduring his attendants' fussing. As the last white kimono shadowed attendant drifted away on silent feet, Izanami fixed a cold glare on her Father.

"Why?" she rapped out suddenly. "Why are you doing this? You know you are deliberately putting them in a situation that would risk the Seal. What games are you playing at Father?"

"Is this another one of your schemes, Father?" Izanagi continued. His amber eyes lightened to liquid gold, mirroring Enma's in his mounting anger. "If so, to what end? They've been through enough! They do not need this and—"

Izanagi practically swallowed his next words when Enma raised a pale hand, cutting him off. The eyes which had reflected his son's changed; the molten gold a freezing color that leeched the warmth from the air.

"Impudent children," Enma said, his whisper carrying throughout the breadth of the Hall and ringing in the glooms of the ceiling. Izanami and Izanagi both flinched, cowering in their placesas their Father's anger broke over them. The shadows that perpetually clouded the ceiling of the Hall of the Dead lightened as Enma's fury ranged across the very heavens, trembling the stars in their course.

In that moment, Enma's dual beauty showed the dark side of death, his face a mask of a snarl that humans foolishly thought was the only side of the Lord as they painted and sculpted his likeness in evanescent paper and bronze. His truefury made those likenesses a mockery of the real thing; Enma's pale splendour in his wrath would have struck pure fear in the heart of the evilest of demons.

"You come to my Hall and you accuse me of toying with those I hold close to my heart, as close as the place I hold for the two of you. The Shinigami are more than my servants; they are my Beloved as well and you _accuse me of playing with them!"_

And in the next instant, any traces of his anger was gone; the shadows returned to their rightful places, the ceiling lost again in impenetrable gloom and the restless shifting of his ever watchful attendants subsided as their Lord's displeasure quietened. Izanagi was the first to break out of his paralysis, bowing low from the waist and he was quickly followed by Izanami, similarly cowed.

Izanagi said, voice rough still with spent traces of fear. "Forgive us, Father. We spoke out of turn. We do know that you intend no such thing."

"Forgive us Father," Izanami echoed.

Enma sighed. "Do you really?" he asked, almost to himself. Izanami and Izanagi looked up sharply, disbelief in their faces. But the same hand that had dealt rebuke to them was offered in gentle entreaty. "Come, my children. Sit with me and let me explain."

Izanami and Izanagi readily complied, raising to their feet delicately and placing themselves by the foot of his dais, one on each side and gazing into their father's face questioningly.

"Father?" Izanami asked hesitantly.

Enma sighed again, an endearingly mortal habit that he just could not shake. "Humans are the most wonderful Creation that you have given birth to, my children. But do you understand them?"

Izanagi looked confused, as did his wife. "I'm not sure we're following you Father."

"You have spent uncountable millennia lost in the hatred you had for each other," Enma reminded them and his two children flinched yet again. "I sought to heal that wound by joining your essences with that of two mortals that I Saw would have a love between them strong enough to overcome the hate between Immortals. Kyo and Takashi's existence was as much for your benefit as it was for themselves. And we all know what happened in the end."

"But I healed Kyo's mind!" Izanami protested, her hands resting on her Father's kneeclenching in remembrance. "I gave him back what he lost: his sanity!"

"And I gave Takashi another chance at life," Izanagi joined his wife. "_You _have ensured that none of the tragedy that befell them would ever be remembered. What else is left?"

Enma raised a hand to his face, rubbing his eyes in a tired gesture. "You've only returned to the World recently, Izanami, Izanagi," he said gently. "While I have spent aeons here in Meifu and I have judged many a soul. If there is one thing I've learned, it is that the human mind and body are the most wonderful and complex Creation to ever be given birth." He shushed Izanami with a finger pressed gently to her lips when she sought to interrupt him.

"Imagine this," he held his hands in his lap, palms up and the fingers half curled. "Imagine that the human mind is a mirror, a reflection of the soul and more. What happens when the mirror is cracked? When it is shattered? What would you do, beloved Izanami?"

"I would put the pieces back together," Izanami answered promptly.

"But could you make the cracks disappear?" Enma countered. 

"I am a goddess Father. . ." Izanami eyed him in the wariness of a child who has a question dangled in front of her and the answer tooblindingly oblivious.

"And the human mind is more than a simple mirror," Enma replied simply. He let that answer sunk in before continuing, growing realisation dawning on his children's faces. "No matter that his mind has healed, the cracks are still there. Mere hairline fractures that are almost inconsequential. . .except for the fact that Kyo's mind is no longer truly what it was."

"So. . .he's. . ." Izanagi faltered.

"A Death Seal can only do so much," Enma said softly. He placed his hands on the crowns of their head, giving them a measure of comfort. "Takashi himself is irreparably damaged. A human soul was never meant to be reborn again after true death. But I allowed it for I too believed that they deserve to be happy together, to enjoy a mortal's happiness before they move on. As much as Kyo will never be the same again, so is Takashi. _A Death Seal can only go so far._"

Izanami and Izanagi bowed their heads, Enma's reassuring presence helping them as they struggled with the newfound revelation that they their Beloveds may be suffering even more. It was a hard thing for a Mother and a Father to swallow; that in trying to help their Children, they might have caused more damage in the process.

"Do not despair, my children," Enma chided them, tilting their chinsup with his hands, looking at them both straight in the eye. His compassion and mercy was evident in the small smile he bestowed upon them and Izanami and Izanagi drank it in like thirsting travellers in a parched desert.

"The human mind is undoubtedly fragile, but it is also the hardiest. An intriguing paradox, is it not? I assigned them this duty in the hopes of allowing their hearts to heal properly. For what the mind is denied, their hearts know the truth of."

"But. . ." Izanagi faltered, "The boy they're looking after. . .he's meant to die."

"Perhaps," Enma answered with a closed look that both knew better than to pry into.

"Then how will another death of a loved one help them?" Izanami asked in frustration.

"It will allow them to love a child and for a neglected child to be loved in return," Enma sighed.

Silence fell again until Izanagi stirred restlessly, placing his hands alongside Izanami's in Enma's lap, looking up beseechingly to their Father.

"They are Shinigami," he said in wretched tones. "It is forbidden for them to forge ties with the living. You made that rule yourself, Father."

Enma's gold eyes blinked slowly, a mysterious smile, almost wistful, gracing his face. "So I did," he allowed.

And no matter how they pleaded, he would not explain what he meant. Giving up, Izanagi exchanged a look with Izanami that conveyed an entire conversation. Their suspicions were laid to rest but neither could deny that even as they basked in their father's presence, Kyo and Takashi were still caught in a trap born of their own minds.

"Father. . ." Izanami said slowly.

"Yes, beloved Izanami?" Enma asked. The shuttered expression on his face showed that Enma knew what they were going to ask but the forms must be observed and Enma duly assumed the mantle of the Lord of Death and Judgment. In accordance, Izanami and Izanagi withdrew from Enma's side, again seating themselves before his dais in formal pose, hands folded in their laps and heads bowed briefly in homage.

"Enma-Daioh, our esteemed Father and Judge," Izanagi intoned formally. "We humbly beg a favour."

"Speak, Izanagi, Creator and Child," Enma replied with due gravity. "You stand in my Hall and I grant you my willing ear. What is the favour you seek of me?"

Izanami bowed from her waist, white hair falling to either side of her face as she straightened in her seat, boldly locking eyes with Enma. "The favour we ask of you is this: release the half-demon Akuma from his eternal torment for but a time."

                                                     *****************

Takashi gritted his teeth, feeling the tingle that warned of excessive magic held at bay. His hastily constructed wards were labouring under the forces they tried to contain; pure elemental magic at its worst potency, unchecked and wild. Kyo's convulsions had progressed to the point where his lips were pulled back in a snarl, tendons straining against skin and threatening to twist upon themselves. Kyo fought against his restraints with every bit of his strength, magical and physical, and the burden was showing on Takashi as well. His circle and pentagram wereflickering wildly. Should his own construct fall apart, the backlash would smash the professor' Four Quarters to smithereens and the magic would run rampant throughout the school.

There was an option open to him, one he loathed to use. Since Kyo's control had slipped, the elements were awakened and with his own ability to tap into Kyo's magic, he could use Air and pull Kyo out of his forced sleep and dreams. But the price would be heavy. Kyo on a good day would get a migraine from a minor slip in using that volatile element. For Takashi to use it on Kyo without his partner's supervision would not be pretty to say the least.

But there was no other way. Tsuzuki was out, so was Hisoka. The wizards and witches in the room could not help him and frankly, he was too pissed with them anyway. _Right, _Takashi resolved, _I'm sorry Kyo, but this is for your own good. _He was on the verge of saying the spell, the words ready at the tip of his tongue but before he could, Kyo suddenly, ominously, went still. With an audible snap, the wakened elements quietened. 

The sudden reprieve was too good to be true. Dumbledore, hand still locked with the Potions Master asked, "Is it over?"

"I. . .I think so," McGonagall offered shakily, straightening her tartan plaid hat. Her hands shook as she did so. "It's quiet now."

There was only muffled sobbing from Pomfrey's direction.

"It's not. . .it's not over," Takashi answered hoarsely, mouth cottony dry with fear. And indeed, Kyo's half-opened eyes, the pupils unnaturally dilated meant only one thing. There was a groan from the corner where Tsuzuki had fallen and Takashi looked back over his shoulder, eyes wide.

"Takashi?" Tsuzuki got to his feet shakily, waving away Pomfrey's tearful offer to help. "What happened?"

Takashi swallowed, trying to blink back the tears that had threatened since he first saw his husband's helpless struggle.

"Takashi?"

"He went. . . he went Within."

"Within?" Snape repeated, confusion giving his face an odd cast.

"He's hiding inside himself," Tsuzuki replied slowly, one hand rubbing the back of his head absently. His purple eyes met Takashi's in concerned understanding. The last time Kyo had went Within was more than ten years ago, a relapse that had confused Takashi in its suddenness and one that neither Hisoka nor Tsuzuki could explain without breaking their oaths. "Someone has to go Within him and get him to come out."

Takashi let out a wordless sob, more of a hysterical laugh than anything, and he let himself slump over Kyo, head on the boy's shoulder as his shaking hand carded the silky hair he had dreamt of touching for weeks on weeks. A warm touch on his own shoulder and Takashi looked up to see Dumbledore's blue eyes shining with a kind light.

"Can we help him?" the Headmaster asked softly.

Takashi shook his head. "No." He pushed himself up, hands braced on either side of Kyo as he shook his head again. "No," he repeated. "I'm the only one he can reach him when he does this. If. . .can you step back, sir?"

Dumbledore nodded slowly, worry deepening the lines on his face as he removed himself. Snape, his ever loyal shadow, attached himself to the Headmaster's side, his expression intensely curious.

Taking a deep breath, and another, Takashi gathered his ki, looking for the bond that tied him with his partner. It was an effortless task really and in seconds, he found himself submerged in a half trance, the now sluggish energies in the room made even brighter in his enhanced state. He chanted the words softly, seeing the magic shaping itself under his command even as he heard it with his ears.

Going Within someone felt as though he was slipping into a warm bath gently, the water rising slowly to cover him as his self merged with that of Kyo. He took a moment to bask in that feeling before he shook off his fascination. He had a husband to find after all.

                                                     *****************

Harry and Ginny could do nothing more than stare dumbly at the wooden door that seem to sneer at them with its very existence. Harry was feeling mildly angry under all the confusion, hurt, sorrow and a vast agony that waited to swallow him. His friend was in there, both of his friends were in there and they were hurting and he couldn't do a thing about it.

It was with some bewilderment that Harry found his body moving without his own volition, launching itself at the door and pounding weakly. Feeble cries escaped his throat, no stronger than the fist that was barely rubbing the door. Strength spent, he slid down to sit on the cold stone floor, andlet his head fall on the cool surface of the door, tears running down his cheeks.

"H-harry?" A voice spoke up timidly.

He turned and immediately got a lapful of warm skin and lily-scented hair. He breathed in that fragrance deeply, grateful and slightly intoxicated as he ran his hand over and over silky smooth hair. The strands were a dark ruby and gold that parted easily between his fingers and he couldn't help but admire their softness. Harry looked down, his own swollen eyes meeting that of cobalt blue that would have put heaven to shame. Long, wet black lashes framed those eyes, and confused, he took in a slightly snub nose that was pink from crying, and full, parted lips. Ginny's eyes fluttered closed and Harry's brain stuttered. If he had been able to think straight, he might have counted every one of the freckles that dusted the girl's cheeks and adorable nose. Instead, he slowly tilted his head and brushed his mouth against hers, enjoying the tender softness.

A sweet, unfamiliar heaviness settled in his mid section, and it felt as if every one of the fine hairs on his arms and the nape of his neck were standing at attention. He'd never noticed before how Ginny was just the perfect size to mold herself to him, knee and thigh, and... his brain went mercifully blank. _Oh, my. . ._he thought dizzily, _When did she get **those**?_ The girl's hands slid up along either side of his spine, and the tremor that shook Harry was strong enough to constitute an epileptic seizure. The mouth under his slipped over, kissing at the point of his chin, the dimple in his cheek, and Harry felt an answering hunger burn through his veins. His hands tangled into long hair at her temples, bringing her mouth back up into contact with his. 

_Hmm. . ._he sighed with pleasure as the fingers of one of Ginny's small, strong hands threaded into his hair and kneaded at his scalp. She had such wonderful hands. . .strong from gripping a broom and throwing the Quaffle one-handed. . .He loved the feel of those slender fingers on him. Her free hand was doing something delectable to the collar of his shirt, and Harry was sure that he had just died and gone to heaven. His hands slid down from her temples, one getting caught at the soft yet firm curve where she pressed against his chest, the other slipping down the line of her back to an equally wonderful roundness that had her suddenly wriggling in the most distracting way.

"_Harry!! _What in the bloody Hell are you doing?!" 

The sudden shout scared the Boy Who Lived half to death, and he and Ginny toppled over backwards together on the floor. His elbow struck the hard marble with a sharp crack, and Harry yelped, losing his grip on the girl who was suddenly struggling to roll off of him, despite the fact that her hands were tangled in his shirt and her hair wrapped distractingly around his neck.

"Ron!" Ginny's flustered squeak confirmed for Harry that he was trouble – such deep, dark trouble that it was all he could do to not draw his wand and cast the Unforgivable on himself. At least that way, it would all have been over with.

                                                     *****************

His senses returned to him slowly, one at a time. First was hearing. And all he could hear was his own breathing, shallow and a bit fast, as well as a creaking he could not place. It sounded like something heavy swinging on a rope. In fact, as he struggled to make sense of what he heard, he could make out two other separate sounds ofbreathing; one rapid and light as though the person was afraid, and one slow and deep as though asleep.

The next to come was touch. He was holding something in his right hand, something that felt cool, hard yet strangely slick. Like steel coated with lubricant but dry. The ground was shifting beneath his feet and he deduced that he was standing on sand, confirmed by a sudden soft breeze that brought with it a taste of grit.

Takashi opened his eyes slowly.

He was in a desert. Under a velvety midnight sky that was a featureless black, yet he could clearly see his surroundings, the area around him lit with a twilight softness that he could not detect the origin of. That creaking sound identified before came from behind him but before he could look, his attention was fixed by the odd sight before him.

He had found Kyo, but not in the way he had expected.

In the middle of this huge desert, the gray sand stretching out endlessly to a horizon he could not see, was a deep armchair covered in faded black velvet, its nap worn to nearly nothing. Kyo was huddled in it, turned pale and still as a mime between his white face, and his black turtleneck, black jeans and black hair. His vacant eyes were sapphire windows that framed a miniature internal landscape wrought in the colors of madness.

Strange. . .Takashi's own mind felt torn. His analytical self, the part of him that had made him a gifted physician and something of a scientist, felt no alarm, no fear. It looked down, and seeing that his right hand gripped the slick hilt of a knife, quickly deduced that if it was indeed the same blood-knife that Kyo had used to kill Akuma so many years ago, then, logically... And the small animal in him gibbered in terror and tried to claw a hole out the back of his brain and escape, begging him _Don't look! You **don't** want to know! _But like a marionette with its strings pulled, Takashi turned around slowly, the creaking growing louder.

His hands tied above him to a rope that stretched upwards to nothingness, naked and pale with his hair the only color like old blood, was Akuma.

The demon whimpered as he swung back and forth slowly, his toes just brushing the sand into meaningless patterns.

The projected body that Takashiwore did nothing. It breathed, calmly, steadily. The small animal inside nearly wet itself in a burst of terror. Deep inside, where it really mattered, Takashi's rational part told it to _shut the hells up_, because he _knew _that what he was seeing wasn't possible. Not. Real. The demon Akuma was sentenced to eternal damnation in the lowest Hell and no one could revoke Enma-Daioh's decision once it was made. Kyo's nightmares were. Not. Real. 

But there was there was something wrong in Kyo's eyes, those eyes that watched the never ending swing of a pendulum back and forth, and at that a bubble of savage fury floated free of the moral restraints that normally held it tight. Takashi's hand clenched until it trembled. By rights, he should feel disgusted, holding the very knife that Akuma had used to harvest soul energy, but all he felt was overwhelming hatred.

Takashi smiled. He smiled because here, where the impossible became possible and fantasies are made real, he could do what he had longed to do so many years ago. He could have his vengeance. 

In the indirect light, the blood knife was more black than he remembered, and its slick surface barely gleamed; fresh split blood in a darkened alleyway, or murder hiding in the basement of an abandoned building. The deaths of uncounted victims were barely a shine on its perfectly smooth surface. He tilted the blade back and forth, admiring it, while a distant humming built in his mind – a swarm of hornets taking flight, or just possibly he was hearing the beginnings of a sandstorm somewhere far distant in the surreal desert that surrounded them. Takashi didn't care. The humming grew to an angry whine, and he began to whistle a sweet melody in counter point under his breath, knife held in a sure and capable grip. Takashi approached the strung up demon with something akin to grinning pleasure. Akuma's yellow eyes widened in fear. The knife-less hand shot out, halting the incessant swinging, and Takashi allowed it to rest familiarly on Akuma's hip, stilling him close in a parody of an embrace. He was distantly surprised that the skin under his palm was warm, and soft. Very much like he would have thought the gorgeous silk robes that the creature had worn to feel. Takashi stroked his thumb absently over the unblemished flesh. The touch left a trail of goose bumps.

"Kyo," he called out, his voice cheerful and loud in the dry, still air. A nearly mischievous grin lifted his lips as he looked back over his shoulder to his lone, silent audience. "Where do you think I should start?"

The black figure huddled in the worn armchair said nothing.

"Alright then," Takashi sighed. He turned back to Akuma, giving his waist a friendly squeeze. "Looks like Kyo doesn't have any preference. Maybe he just wants to see you bleed?" His hazel-green eyes darkened, the gold drowning the green in a murky haze that made Akuma whimper in shuddering fear. "After all, you made him bleed _plenty._"

Akuma twisted, desperate to avoid the unwelcome contact. His fine, pale skin rippled as a shiver sped across him. "No- " he gagged, unfamiliar fear sparking in the inhumanly beautiful, honey gold eyes. Takashi held him still, forcing their eyes to meet. The stench of old blood and decay sweating from the demon made the Shinigami's nostrils flare in sudden contempt, and his low voice was corrosive in its hatred as he answered, "Oh, yes. I don't know what miracle delivered you into my hands, but this time, I swear, I will pay you back for every second of despair and agony that you visited on my Kyo." His free hand slid to the creature's bare chest, where it rose and fell with each shuddering breath. "No matter where you go, I will find you. If it takes a thousand years, I will destroy you." Implacable, Takashi's smile vanished as if it had never been and relentless, cold fury settled on his face. He gave the bound figure a shove, causing it to scrabble for purchase on the shifting sand as it again began to swing in a slow arc.

Clinical detachment observed how the demon's own weight strained its shoulder joints, placing unbearable pressure on muscle and cartilage that was not intended for such prolonged abuse. Takashi braced himself as best he could on the uncertain, loose sand. The cursed dagger was waiting, held immobile as the predictable, constant movement slid the demon's taut deltoid onto the blade. The blade sank deep, flesh providing no more resistance than pudding. And, the physics of the moment drew out until the pendulum began its swing in the opposite direction. The faint sucking sound as the stationary knife pulled free was lost in the overwhelming volume of Akuma's fresh shriek. He writhed, frantic to escape, and the abused joint slid out of place with an audible pop. Takashi ignored the hoarse, sobbing cries, fascinated by the blood knife itself, as the fresh slickness was absorbed into the seamless, red-black surface. The knife felt marginally warmer in his hand, and he could have sworn that the hilt nestled in his grasp had a pulse of its own.

Blood splattered onto the sand, tracing the arc of the demon's swing. Distracted from the knife, Takashi stared at it, bemused, trying to remember a long-ago lecture on kinematics, the study of motion. There was something about the draw of gravity providing angular acceleration to the pendulum's bob. . .And who was the guy that used a pendulum as a way of demonstrating the earth's rotation. . .? Foucault. That was his name. Maybe, if Takashi waited long enough, the pattern of dripping blood would outline a circle, and he would prove that even in this dream realm, the earth still spun on its axis and heaven proceeded in an orderly dance. But all the noise was getting on Takashi's nerves, and making it hard to think. He conjured a gag with a negligent snap of his fingers, and met the terrified honey-gold eyes. Quietly, softly, he murmured, "I _hate_ you." On the pendulum's next swing, the former doctor stepped forward to meet the demon. 

And underneath a black sky where the sands danced to the song of a wind sourced from no place on earth, Takashi made the sands run red and wet.

*****************

There was a tug, like a Portkey but not, a sensation of whirling colours and vertigo that assailed from all directions and beyond, the faintest whisper of a scream tickling the back of his mind and the breaking of a sliver of a crystal shard against a mountain.

Snape opened his eyes with an almost audible snap, surprised that he had closed them in the first place. _Fool_, he berated himself silently even as he steadied shaking feet on shifting sand. _That's a sure way to get yourself killed; inattention_. Then caught himself. **_Sand?_**

Indeed, looking down past his knee-high boots to where the pointed toes dug in was, without doubt, sand. _Was it a Portkey? But the only thing I touched was Albus' hand, unless. . ._

It was then that he realized his current state of being; i.e. see-through.

_I'm **dead**?!_

"Ah, my dear Severus. It seems that we're all in the same boat, as Muggles are so fond of saying."

He twisted around so fast that it was only thanks to his current immaterial body that he did not fall down flat. The impossibly distant horizon seemed near enough to touch, and the featureless sky, true Night purged of the hopeful light of the stars, pressed down. A swooping fall in the pit of his stomach argued that the ground was both too far away, and tilting crazily; it returned to level only when he ceased to move. But Snape failed to care.  True to his disbelieving eyes, they were all there. . .wherever 'there' was. Dumbledore, silvery beard glowing brighter with ghostly phosphorescence, McGonagall with her thin nose flaring, Pomfrey just plainly bewildered and Professor Tsuzuki, strangely calm and looking not a little weary.

"Tsuzuki!" Snape rapped out, pleased at least, that he retained his mortal's form's sharp, flaying tone so well even now, and more than willing to strip the other man of his courteous title of 'Professor.' "You know what's going on, don't you? Where are we?" He indicated with a broad gesture, taking in the oddly blank sky and the grey sands beneath their feet. The wind that blew carried with it a hint of arctic freeze and brimstone. An even odder circumstance than the frightening sky above.

Tsuzuki met his accusing stare, sorrow shading his eyes a dark silver. He did not speak but indicated, with a nod of his head, a spot behind them. The Hogwarts' professors turned as one, robes billowing with their movements and settling down despite their non-weight. Forewarned, the Potions Master controlled his reactions better than his colleagues did, and he felt a spiteful pleasure at seeming them stagger. But his attention was arrested by objects that could not have been there moments earlier, yet were. Their first assumption that this was a bare desert was not entirely correct. There was a deep black armchair of all things, its back facing them, and beyond it, a length of silvery rope that stretched out to infinity above.

"Professor Tsuzuki," Dumbledore asked softly, the Headmaster too feeling the sudden urgency that warned them that to break the stillness of this place was prohibited. "Where are we?" he repeated.

Tsuzuki sighed, a slight exhalation lost in the wind that blew. "We were pulled Within as well," he admitted. "I'm not sure how but we're in Kyo's heart right now."

Pomfrey shifted uncomfortably, noting how the sands moved beneath her feet even if they were in this ghost-like condition. "This. . .this is Kyo's heart? This place reminds me of that mad painter, Dali, when he got hold of a spoilt potion..."

"A visual representation. . .though," Tsuzuki frowned briefly, "Something doesn't feel right. I don't think Kyo can carve this out alone, or if he even would mould a landscape such as this."

Snape hid a shudder, wanting desperately to stuff his hands in his robes for warmth. Tsuzuki was right; this place they were in had a peculiar tinge to it, a slant that was not. . .right. "Tsu—" he stopped himself, raising his hand to shush the others. "Did you hear that?"

A slow, long creak that went on endlessly, a soft whimper.

"It's coming from that direction," McGonagall said, her eyes narrowed into slits and her nostrils flaring wide, once. Her animagus abilities enhancing her human form, she was the first to pick out the sound. "It sounds like someone's in trouble."

"Well then," Dumbledore said grimly, straightening his shoulders. "Friends, we have a student to call back and a colleague to help. Shall we?"

It was only then that Snape realised that none of them had their wands. From what he had seen of the Japanese's abilities, he knew that Tsuzuki was the most able to defend himself should the need arise, leaving them effectively helpless and dependant. _But,_ his mouth thinning and pale face drawn tight, _I have not survived this long by depending on others._ As one, they moved together towards the incongruous black armchair, a suddenly forbidding piece of furniture, Tsuzuki leading them. It might have been a trick of the non-light or the skewed perspectives of this dream reality but none of them could see beyond that armchair till they drew level to it, spreading out on either side.

Pomfrey uttered a soft shriek, hand to her mouth and even McGonagall gasped, instinctively falling back a step.

A man hung naked by his arms from that silver rope, clothed only by his long red hair and by that, they knew that this was Akuma, the demon. Standing fixed and rigid before that naked form was Matsumada, a dull-shiny black knife clutched in his hand. Snape moved quickly, hand outstretched, the incantation for the summoning charm ready on his tongue but found that he could not move beyond an invisible line that drew itself a step in front of that armchair.

"He can't hear you," a soft whisper floated out of the deep darkness of that black armchair.

As though they'd been practising together, the professors turned slowly, tearing their eyes away from that disturbing sight of a normally mild mannered man holding a knife, to confront the owner of an even more disturbing voice.

The armchair was, absurdly, of faded black velvet, worn and frayed in some spots. Its wings flared high and deep, giving the chair the illusion of endless space inside. Huddled childlike, knees drawn up to his chest, chin propped on his knees, clad in all black was Shiozaki. Like steel to magnet, like the call of a Veela, their gazes locked with that of Shiozaki, his light blue eyes capturing each and every one of them in the depths of mad vistas and holding them fast as amber would a fly.

"Kyo?"

The boy put a finger to his bloodless lips. "Shh. . .he can't hear you but you can't disturb him."

Tsuzuki tried to get closer but could not move his legs even an inch. Alarmed, the others tried as well but even Dumbledore, the greatest wizard alive could do nothing, their robes fluttering in the wind the most movement each could afford. "Kyo, what's going on?" Tsuzuki asked calmly, even if his eyes betrayed the fact that he was trying to break out of this prison with all of his strength.

Shiozaki shook his head, smiling faintly. "I told you," he said patiently, "You can't disturb him. We were brought here to see this; so watch."

"Watch what, Mr. Shiozaki?" Snape bit out. "Just what exactly is your husband trying to do?"

Shiozaki turned that disconcerting stare on him and Snape had to hide a wince at the coldness in those eyes. Shiozaki said nothing for a long moment, content it seemed, to merely stare. But, to their collective surprise, a tear slipped free, sorrow touching those icy blue eyes and calming the madness within, shading the vistas in colours that were all too human in their sadness.

"Vengeance," Shiozaki said and they strained to hear him, even with the words carrying perfectly in the air. "For vengeance, Professor. Takashi wants to avenge me, and himself in the process. What right do I have to deny him it? Don't you agree with me, Professor Snape?"

Snape swallowed hard in response, black eyes meeting Shiozaki's blue squarely and he knew that the boy could see the understanding within. A delicious frisson of remembered pain-pleasure ghosted across his skin, but with single-minded focus he ignored the question as to whether it had its origins in his own memories, or those of the boy. The Potions Master could not deny that simple truth Shiozaki laid bare. He understood the meaning behind that word all too well. The boy had been wronged in the worst way possible and the laws of nature demanded retribution. Even in his time as a Death Eater, and later, as an agent of the Order of the Phoenix, payback was considered to be a due course. A fallen comrade would be avenged, be they fighting for the Dark or the Light. And here, where the bonds of love came into play, even more so every drop of blood shed would be paid in kind. Severus Snape understood, for he had howled for vengeance more than once, and he nodded, once, and broke that stare to fix his eyes on the bound, swaying figure.

A wild cry pierced the air, unrestrained, and no words could describe exactly, the unnamed emotion that struck each and every one of them in turn upon hearing it. Takashi lunged forward, slashing savagely and Akuma cried out, a broken keening each time the knife left a mark on his pale flesh.

"No! Stop him!" Pomfrey crumpled to her knees, sobbing into her hands as she hid her face from that gruesome sight.

Unexpectedly, rebuke did not come from Shiozaki, but from McGonagall who watched each fierce stroke, followed each splattering trail of blood, and heard each wordless sob rendered from Takashi's throat avidly, face pale yet determined, eyes glittering with a hard light. "It is the least they could have, Poppy," she said harshly, never pulling her eyes away, "As Shiozaki says, he has the right to exact retribution!"

Dumbledore and Tsuzuki kept their silence, heads bowed and in that position, Snape could not help but compare how the two men, so disparate in appearance could look so alike.

"He had to watch as I was. . .taken. He was bound helpless by that demon even as _he_ is bound helpless now." Shiozaki leaned back in his worn armchair, the tears now falling freely and fast. "What right do I have to deny him this?" he repeated.

*********************

The human body was a wonderful mechanism, more intricate and precise than any clockwork, comprised of millions of tiny, individual cogs, and of springs wound by the hands of the gods and set in motion. The span granted a single life might be intended as only a candle's brief flicker, but with the aid of magic, it had the potential to become enduring and everlasting, to step across an invisible line and cloak itself in immortality. But even then, the body was still essentially only that of a human, and outside forces could yet intervene. Takashi stepped back, his physician's training causing him to eye critically the nude figure that dangled in front of him, its pale surface traced by thin lines of darkest red. . .some formed of long hair, and others, merely of blood. The irony of his position as a life breaker, as a Shinigami, rather than as the healer that he had trained to be, wasn't lost on him, but just at the moment he really didn't give a damn. He took another step, to the right this time, the grey colored sand yielding uneasily beneath his shoes. The soft surface was a little annoying, but he compensated automatically, shifting to keep his balance, eyes focused on the slim demon. Balance. . .that was what was missing. The red on white composition was subtly asymmetrical, and it threw him off. Takashi grunted and closed, drawing the razor tip of the knife's blade across, just below his captive's left nipple. The figure arched as though he had jabbed it with a live wire, and a guttural, shaking sob whispered across the barren expanse of sand and rock. The faintest smile graced Takashi's lips.

He really had no idea how he – or the demon, Akuma – or Kyo for that matter, had gotten to such a forsaken place. Likewise, he had no explanation for how the undead creature, stripped of his gorgeous silk robes, came to be strung up by his outstretched hands, hanging from some invisible point overhead. But it was enough just to know that this time, things were going to be different. The script had been changed, and the Earth was spinning backwards in its course. This time, Kyo was not the one who would suffer, and this time, Akuma was not the one who was going to be dealing out pain. The thought turned his smile feral, and hot with hatred.

Takashi spared Kyo a glance, disappointed that the boy didn't speak, or move, but there would be time enough for that, later. Just now, he had been set a task, and it was one that he intended to complete. He brushed a hand over the suspended demon, noting without interest that its skin was warm, and felt softer than satin. He shifted his grip on the knife, and put out a hand to steady Akuma, to halt the slow pendulum swing. 

"Kyo," the former doctor called gently. "I have a present for you." There was still no response from the seated boy. The demon, on the other hand, had settled into a constant trembling, not enough to be visible, but enough to matter. Takashi cupped the creature's scrotum, feeling its balls retreat from his cold touch. He fondled the bag of skin briefly, enough to provoke an autonomous tightening, and perversely, that brought a heady light to the Shinigami's hazel eyes, making them seem almost joyful. With a surgeon's delicate precision, he positioned the blood blade's point carefully just below the demon's penis, gauging angles and forces without conscious effort. And with a doctor's innate knowledge of those tiny, fragile gears and springs that together formed Life, he drew the knife across, rending the pale, pale flesh, loosing the vital blood that coursed within. 

A handful of severed meat plopped softly onto the ground. The tendons of Akuma's perfect throat were exposed, rigid, and the red lipped mouth opened wide. A scream tore from him.

Kyo smiled; slowly, quietly.

Takashi rubbed his fingers negligently into the wound, ignoring the blood that pattered down in a black rain, disappearing into the sand as if it had never been. He murmured a partial healing spell, effectively cauterizing the opened flesh. The knife twirled negligently in his hand; Takashi wondered which next spot would help counterbalance the new perspective to the composition. Akuma was sobbing now, choking on his gag as tears ran swiftly down his cheeks, diluting the sluggishly flowing blood pink and matting his hair to sweat slicked skin.

Seeing the broken demon snapped something inside of him. Takashi surged forwards, grabbing Akuma by the mane of long hair and pulling his head back, snarling into Akuma's face. "You are not _worthy _of crying you bastard. This pain is _nothing! _Nothing compared to what you put Kyo through! Did you know, it took 2 months before he was healed enough to even cry?"

Akuma mewled, an apology perhaps, maybe a curse.

"I hate you, I hate you, I hate you," Takashi chanted, raising the knife again, enjoying the honey eyes that widened in silent pleading. "I h—"

"Takashi, enough."

A warm hand settled lightly over his which still clutched the knife. A pale hand, fingers delicate and graceful, clothed in a sleeve of gold and white silk. Takashi froze, turning his head slowly, his eyes traveling upwards from the hand that restrained him, to the eyes that met his in sympathy and compassion.

"Enough, Takashi," Enma-Daioh said softly, the god's fingers lightly caressing his. "He has gone through enough. You have gone through enough. Do not descend to his level."

That small animal in his mind, the one that hadtried to stop him but couldn't, reared its head again, this time a dragon with a roar that drowned out the hissing for more blood, for more _pain_. And the realization of what he had done struck him fully.

Takashi gasped, the knife tumbling free from a slack grip and he took a step back, his mind and heart finally registering the pitiful sight that was Akuma, torn and bleeding. He looked down, afraid to see what he knew he would but he looked anyway. Blood and gore spattered his clothes, rimming his nails a dirty black and filled his nostrils with the scent of decay and piss and vomit.

He gagged, falling to his knees before his god. Takashi covered his face with his stained hands, trying to shut out what his mind would not and he wept.

Enma, standing by his side, rested a comforting hand on the crown of Takashi's head and waited vigil as the man's harsh sobbing drowned the keening wind.

*****to be continued*****


	24. Chapter 24:They never get to say goodbye...

**Title: **When Death Comes a'Knocking: Book 1 – Of Revelations

**Plot Mistresses: **Shiozaki, Shaynie, Literary Eagle, Librarycat

**Spell Researchers: **The talented, too-kind people of the Yahoo!Group, shadowsofthefox

**Warning: **This chapter is rather mild and relaxed.

**Scene Master: **Shiozaki and Librarycat

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**                                                  Rejoice! Rejoice!**

**                                                         Hurrah!**

**                  Literary Eagle has made a fanart for Chapter 6 of this story!**

**                                                         Hurrah!**

**Find it at my mailing list!! (Address available at my profile page. It's in the Files section, labelled wdcak0106)**

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**Review replies:**

**Tatsuken****, Quatre Winner, ****Phoenix****3:16**(I take it you don't regret being introduced to slash? *grin*)**, tenshiamanda, Yanagi-sen: **Ah, faithful reviewers all. . . how happy you make me. Forgive the delay, please. And remember to check out Lita's fanart of WDCAK!

**Hitomibishop****, Winter & Gentleman, kael' ri: **Ah, the four who actually admitted that the last chapter was disturbing. Just the reaction that me and Lisa have been waiting for! Yes, it was meant to be so. We wanted to show that even the good guys are just human; that they'll break and they'll crumble and they'll do things that a good guy shouldn't. But in the end, they'll halt their own descent into madness or chaos or evil because _they're the good guys_. You can't tell how happy we are that we're getting a more proactive feedback for the story. There's a lot of hidden implications and  undercurrents in the story that influences the overall story and characters. It's good to see it acknowledged so. 

**                                                                  Chapter 24**

**                                             They never get to say goodbye, do they?**

Takashi tried to will himself to relax, for his fingers to release their death grip on the pillow, Kyo's sleeping face framed in between his white-knuckled hands. But it seemed the harder he tried, the fiercer his grip became till his hands shook with the effort. Kyo slept on, unaware of his struggles. The boy's breathing had evened out in the sign of deep sleep, the lines of tension melting away to reveal a face unmarred by years and Takashi tried to take comfort in it. But he could still feel the blood-slick knife in his hand, hear the drip-splat of blood on grey sands and the creaking of a rope.

"Takashi." Strong hands, brown froma sun that had kissed the skin gold before death, covered his own pale ones. They caressed his fingers, coaxing him to let go. Those clean lines that belied the strength they held managed to pry his fingers away, leaving behind them imprint of a sweat-soaked struggle on white cotton.

He whimpered at the loss of an anchor and in turn, those brown fingers, lean and neat, offered themselves in place and he clutched themgratefully, greedily, as he sagged against a firm shoulder. "I can't leave him now," he rasped, eyes blindly focused on Kyo's face. "He needs me."

"He's asleep, Takashi." It was Tsuzuki. Tsuzuki who was offering him shelter within his embrace and holding himdown within this reality when all he wanted was to curl up in ball and pretend the world away. "There's nothing you can do for him now. You can come back later, after the both of you havehad a good sleep, alright?"

With more gentle words and hands that coaxed and cajoled, Takashi allowed Tsuzuki to steer himself off the bed and out of the warded room, the door opening with a shower of sparks that he did not feel as they alighted on his chilled skin. He was vaguely aware of low voices stopping abruptly as he passed them by. Just as he crossed the threshold, a small body stumbled past him, sobbing wildly and a door slammed in the distance.

"Professor?"

"What happened? Is he alright?"

He was deaf to the children, his eyes blind. All he knew was that Tsuzuki continued to shoulder his boneless weight and help direct his aimless feet till the voices fell behind. He didn't care exactly as to where he was herded to. They were ghosts drifting past on silent feet, the babble and cries of excited and distressed humans parting before them as rushing water parted for an immovable rock. It was down one dark hallway, where the torches that flared sootless were few and far in between that Takashi stumbled.

He sank down on his knees, fingers scrabbling for some sort of anchor as his guts heaved. He was retching so hard his throat burned with the effort, his tall frame wracked head to toe. Nothing came up. His unchecked tears scalded his cheeks, dripping down his chin to darken the stone floor beneath like grey sand tainted with blood.

"What have I done? Oh Enma, what have I done?"

In a corner of his mind, that little part of him which hadn't broken down into a quivering wreck on the floor was distantly amazed. He never knew he could sound as horrible as that; that his throat could produce such agonised keening that bounced off the stone walls and floors, mocking him with the echoes multiplied tenfold.

"I can't touch him, I can't! Not after what I did!" He was getting hysterical, that little voice noted clinically. He rocked back and forth on his knees, ignoring Tsuzuki who was hugging him tightly from behind and trying to calm him down with words that no longer had any hold on him. Takashi rubbed his palms over the stone floor, trying desperately to get rid of the red-black stains that refused to disappear. When that didn't work, he scratched the skin of his palms with broken nails, gouging the soft skin, scoring deep till his own blood covered that of Akuma's.

"Takashi, no! Stop that!" Tsuzuki grabbed his hands, forcing them apart. Takashi wailed, a sound that hurt the ears in anunrestrained ululation of grief and loathing. Tsuzuki, his own tears running down unheeded, wrestled with Takashi, using his extra height as advantage and forced Takashi into a locked embrace that had the man moaning into his chest, undoubtedly ruining his robes. The former sensei's hands he still kept apart, shackled in his own relentless grip that refused to let go. The few torches that burned flared and dipped with each keening cry, fingers that still spasm with guilt and self-hatred.

Tsuzuki waited grimly until Takashi's hands healed from their self-mutilation, watching silently as the torn skin closed, the blood seeping back inside and the cracked fingernails became whole again. When the sensei's hands were perfect again, he let go quickly and forced Takashi to look up, distracting him before he could continue scratching his skin off.

"Takashi," he said gently, thumbs wiping away the salty tears. "Look at your hands." Takashi did, giving a small cry and started to scratch again. "What do you see, Takashi?"

"Blood," Takashi whimpered. "His blood! I'm just like him, oh god, I'm just like him!" He went on scratching frantically.

"No, Takashi," Tsuzuki continued in that same gentle tone, slowly tightening his grip until Takashi's frantic clawing wascontained. "There's no blood. There's no blood at all. Do you see?"

Takashi's breath hitched in his chest, an endearingly childlike action that was heartbreakingly at odds with his old eyes. His fingers spasm again, more of an involuntaryreflex than deliberate as he stared down at his own hands, cradled in Tsuzuki's.

"But. . ." his hands twitched.

"There's no blood." Tsuzuki gambled, letting Takashi's hands free to run his own palms over Takashi's, rubbing softly and pulling away. "See? There's nothing. You're not like him, Takashi. You can never be like him. Do you know why?"

Takashi shook his head numbly.

"Because of this." He ran his fingers gently over Takashi's cheeks and with the tears wetting his fingers, rubbed it over Takashi's palms. "Because you regret what you've done. Which was something _he _never did. Because you're only human, Takashi, and can only take so much. And you'll never be like him because even if you had enough, you still stopped." He paused, considering. "I think this was Enma Dai-Oh's intent. To show you that you aren't a monster. To give you a chance to purge the anger and desire for revenge from your soul, so that you will never become one."

Takashi seemed to ponder over his words, his hands twitching still as he appeared fascinated with the tear-stained skin. He turned slightly in their embrace, looking into Tsuzuki's eyes. "I'm not. . ." he swallowed, "I'm not a monster? A. . .demon?"

Tsuzuki's chest tightened, his breath caught in his throat. He knew his smile must look more painful than it did comforting but he hugged Takashi anyway, placing a small kiss on Takashi's forehead. "You're not a monster nor a demon," he said softly. "You're only human Takashi. As we all are."

                                                 ****************

Tsuzuki entered Dumbledore's office quietly, with none of the dramatic flair that Takashi had employed earlier. The door closed with a soft _snick _behind him and as his next step sank into a soft pile of carpet, Dumbledore beckoned him to the two armchairs by the fireplace, the venerable Headmaster abandoning his usual fortress of the mahogany desk. A small table was placedequidistant between the two dark green velvet armchairs and a swish of the Headmaster's wand produced a fine silver tea set complete with a plate of biscuits.

Tsuzuki settled into his place with a weary, appreciative sigh. The chair was sinfully divine, cushioning his aching back and he accepted the offered tea with a small smile. "Thank you." Dumbledore had taken the liberty of adding a shot of Firewhisky into it and he relaxed further as the hot liquid trailed a path down his gullet.

Dumbledore similarly enjoyed his own drink and two men were content to sit back and savour the peaceful moment.

"Professor Tsuzuki," Dumbledore began and the quiet moment was shattered. Tsuzuki placed his cup back on the traywith barely a clink. His amethyst eyes swept over the old man's seated form, taking in the slightly wrinkled robes, the stars failing to twinkle with enchanted glitter and the beard that practically dripped with weariness and, Tsuzuki was sadly surprised to note, confusion on the lined face.

Dumbledore tried again. "Professor Tsuzuki, what. . ." He rubbed his face. "How is Professor Matsumada doing?"

Tsuzuki closed his eyes, opening them again to stare reflectively into the fire. "He's sleeping," he finally said. "That's all than we can ask of him." 

"Yes," Dumbledore sighed. "I've taken the liberty of sending young Mr. Kurosaki back to the dorms for some rest as well."

Tsuzuki murmured his thanks.

"Pr—"

"Just call me Tsuzuki," Tsuzuki said with a smile. "It beats the trouble of calling me 'Professor' all the time."

"Tsuzuki," Dumbledore acknowledged. He added more tea to his cup and offered the teapot in a silent inquiry. Tsuzuki nodded and had his replenished. As Dumbledore gathered his thoughts, Tsuzuki added a slice of lemon, not even twitching when Fawkes flew off his perch to settle in his lap, humming contentedly. 

Dumbledore lifted one bushy eyebrow but forgo comment. Instead, he settled with a "Tsuzuki. . .who _was _that. . . man? The one at the end of the dream?"

Tsuzuki's lips twitched into a wry smile. "You met gods just two days ago, Headmaster. Surely you can recognize one by now."

Dumbledore's wrinkled hands shook as they had never done in front of another person, not when the title of 'the greatest wizard alive' was his, regrettably, to defend. His cup rattled against the saucer and when he took a sip, Tsuzuki could have sworn that he heard the china clatter against teeth. "A god," Dumbledore repeated.

"He tends to have that effect on people," Tsuzuki said mildly.

Dumbledore sighed gustily, the ends of his moustache fluttering. His china cup was set down with a forceful smack, startling Fawkes who let loose an indignant squawk. "I have been very patient so far, Tsuzuki. I knew from the beginning that the four of you were not all what you seemed to be, but I bided my time. I have made allowances when circumstances bade that I do not and now you're telling me that _your group is affiliated with a god?!" _

Tsuzuki did not answer immediately, choosing instead to take a fortifying sip from his cup. A log popped, shooting gold and red sparks in the air. "He is Enma-Daioh," Tsuzuki said abruptly. "Lord of Death and Judgment."

"Enma-Daioh. Lord of Death and Judgment," Dumbledore repeated. Tsuzuki would have laughed at the gobsmacked expression on the Headmaster's face if the situation had been one whit less tense than it currently was. The continuation of their mission depended on the Headmaster's goodwill and cooperation. If they were to be sent back now, he dreaded the thought of what Enma-sama would say. Not to mention Tatsumi.

"Servants of Death," Dumbledore said sharply. "That was what the goddess Hel called the four of you that night. So everything you've told us was a lie?"

Tsuzuki had to contain a wince at the coldness in Dumbledore's tone. Fawkes trilled softly, one liquid gold eye trained on him and filled with sympathy.

"No," Tsuzuki sighed. He turned to face the Headmaster fully, careful to not dislodge Fawkes from his comfortable perch in his lap. "We are omnyouji, allied with the Japanese Omnyouji Coalition. Yes, we happen to take orders from Lord Enma. We worship him after all," Tsuzuki shrugged then bent a half-smile to Dumbledore. "Considering our job, it's only natural."

"You worship a Lord of Death," The look on Dumbledore's face told Tsuzuki that the Headmaster did not know whether to laugh or scoff. The middle ground it took made him look almost comical. "What is your true purpose here then? Do you really intend to help us against Voldemort or does your god intend to take his place instead?"

Tsuzuki managed to not choke on an unfortunate sip of his tea. He coughed lightly, shooting Dumbledore an incredulous look. "Lord Enma is a _god_. Why on earth would he want to take the place of some self-styled Dark Lord?"

"For more power?" Dumbledore suggested with a cold gleam in his eyes. "As you said, Tsuzuki, I have seen gods before and they are malicious and fickle creatures. They experienced no qualms at all in murdering a man in cold blood. This god of Death and Judgement of yours can probably do more."

The instant those words left his lips, the fire flared high, burning white before it abruptly settled back into a cheerful little blaze. Fawkes took off in a hurried flap of wings, alighting back on his stand and glaring at Tsuzuki grumpily. The professor took no notice but instead, focused equally icy eyes on the Headmaster. "You have no idea of the gravity of the insult you've given to Lord Enma," Tsuzuki said quietly. "Unlike the Isles, the Eastern old gods are very much still in power, worshipped even after all this time. And Lord Enma has ever only acted in his capacity as Death and Judge. Especially as a Judge."

Tsuzuki took another sip of his tea, his expression warning Dumbledore to not interrupt. "Yes, we are his Servants. _Yamabushi__, _if you prefer a more archaic term. The ascetics of the mountains who are warrior priests, monks, wandering holy men, pilgrimage guides, blind musicians, exorcists, hermits and healers." Tsuzuki grinned crookedly even as he took on a lecturing tone that would have made Takashi proud. "It's different than here in the West, where old traditions die away. In the East, we still study Shugendo, which blends the pre-Buddhist folk traditions of Sangaku Shinko and Shinto, Tantric Buddhism, and Chinese Yin-Yang magic and Taoism. And, as Takashi has taught in his class and as we've told you, we help spirits move on, to find peace, to preserve the balance between the mortal and spirit worlds." 

Over the rim of his cup, Tsuzuki knew that his eyes were brilliant with sincerity; even if what he told the Headmaster was only the tip of a very large iceberg. That there was still one essential, true difference between the Shugenja and the Shinigami. . . And that that was mortal life.  Of course, Dumbledore didn't have to know that the would-be saviours from the East were _dead. _Tsuzuki would just have to gamble that the truth in his statements was enough to satisfy his wily opponent.

"So you're here to exorcise Voldemort?" Dumbledore asked dryly. 

Tsuzuki barked out a laugh, the intensity in his eyes melting away to reveal his appreciation of the Headmaster's wit. "Hardly." He sighed, a hand kneading the spot between his eyes. "This time, this war of yours has been going on for more than 5 years, Headmaster. And every year, Voldemort grows in power. You've lost a student in Harry's fourth year and just recently, his godfather. Now we hear reports of clandestine Death Eater attacks against innocent villages. When Voldemort steps out of the shadows, who's to say it won't escalate to all-out bloodshed?" 

Dumbledore nodded. "Something we hope won't come to pass," he said slowly. "We are working very hard to forestall it."

"But all too likely it will," Tsuzuki replied. "You have to understand our position in this, Headmaster. With each death, each killing, Voldemort is slowly destroying the balance between the worlds. You have no proper exorcists here to send these unquiet spirits on, or to pacify them. If open war breaks out, it will tip the scales irretrievably, and that will ultimately affect us as well. There's a delicate balance to the spiritual magic in the world and Voldemort will annihilate it."

Tsuzuki leaned forwards in his seat, pinning Dumbledore with his fervent amethyst eyes. "When it goes too far, when we can longer contain the imbalance, Britain will turn into a veritable sinkhole and it'll take everyone with it. Including us."

"Impossible!" Dumbledore exploded. "Ghosts have existed here in Europe for hundreds of years! Nothing has happened in the interim. Why now?"

"A Headless Nick or a Bloody Baron or two is not exactly catastrophic, I admit. But I'll let you in on a secret, Professor. It took until recently for Europe to recover its spiritual stability after World Wars I and II, after Grindlewald, and after Voldemort's first reign. It cannot take on something as big as his second rising. You just don't have the capacity to handle it. You don't have _us._" Tsuzuki leaned back with a sigh. "The previous imbalance had the magicks in Japan and other parts of Asia running wild. It was all we could do to preserve our own spiritual stability then."

Dumbledore mimicked his action, leaning back as well. "You're asking me to believe in the unseen, Tsuzuki," he finally said.

"Isn't that what magic is, Headmaster?" Tsuzuki smiled. "The unseen?"

Trapped into a rueful chuckle, the elderly wizard threw up his hands. "Ah, Professor. And here I thought that Mr. Matsumada was the clever one in your party!" His lips twitched, and the twinkle that had been absent returned to Dumbledore's keen gaze. "Now then, I believe that there was something else that you intended to speak to me concerning?"

Tsuzuki blinked. "Er. . .I have to confess I'm not completely sure how to explain this, myself," he admitted sheepishly, allowing one of his customarily foolish looks to settle on his features. The English wizard's frown told him that he wasn't going to buy it. "Oh, very well then. It was just that something struck me, when I saw what was happening with Takashi and Kyo-kun." He hesitated, fumbling for the foreign words that would best suit, and took a deep breath.

"We have – all four of us – been _yamabushi_ for a long time. . .And some of the things that we've seen, and done, were very hard to accept. . .Akuma. . .he was not the only demon that we have met. We. . ." Caught between the Death Seal warning pain, and his own indecision, Tsuzuki's voice faltered and died away. He dropped his eyes to his tea cup, striving to avoid the growing understanding that he saw in the Headmaster.

"Tsuzuki. . ." the older man said gently, "If it pains you to speak of it, you needn't give me details." There was no mistaking the compassion in that voice, and it eased some of the Seal's grinding hurt.

"Well, to be truthful, I _can't_ give you the details, even if I wished to. Enma-Daioh commanded that we not do so. But, what I wanted to say is that for Takashi, and Kyo, much of it was blacked out. Our Lord gave them forgetfulness, to keep the memories from destroying them."  Tsuzuki was well aware of how close he was to tears. They wobbled, hot and salty, just barely contained by his eyelids and will. Some of that struggle must have been apparent to Dumbledore, for his expression softened even farther.

"An Obliviate?" he asked. "A memory charm of some sort?"

"Yes. That's a good analogy." Guileless, he met those old-wise eyes. "I think that all the harm done them that's been blocked off, came to be blamed on Akuma. Even though _he_ was only a part of the problem. I can only hope that being given a chance to purge themselves of the desire for vengeance will resolve this mess, so that it doesn't come up again."

"Ah." The Headmaster sat back, considering. When he finally spoke, it was less Tsuzuki that he addressed than it was himself, never to know that what he said echoed unnervingly with that of Enma-Daioh's. "The human mind is a fragile thing. . .Crack it, and it is never quite the same again. So often, we ignore that when we use spells that alter it." Abruptly, he straightened, fixing the younger man with a sharp stare. "While I am still not comfortable with the impression that it makes, I will arrange for Mr. Shiozaki and Mr. Matsumada to have some time together. Alone. Will that be of any assistance?"__

Tsuzuki smiled gratefully. "Much. Takashi wasn't kidding when he said that they've never been apart in. . .a long time. They find the concept of separation to be incomprehensible," Tsuzuki finished with a light laugh.

"And what of yourself, Tsuzuki?" Dumbledore asked shrewdly. "I am old and have seen much, my boy. And what I see in you and Kurosaki, and in Shiozaki and Matsumada as well, is of a bond that is beyond the ordinary. This separation pains you as well, doesn't it?"

Tsuzuki fell quiet, his near-empty tea cup twirled around absently in his hands as he refused to meet the Headmaster's knowing gaze.

"We've had our suspicions of you and your friends from the beginning, Tsuzuki," Dumbledore sighed. "And while some have been laid to rest, there are more that begs questioning." He held up a hand, forestalling Tsuzuki before he could interrupt. "But I have seen the lengths you're willing to go to protect a student, to protect Harry and while I know you're not telling me everything, I am willing to trust you."

Tsuzuki nodded wordlessly. 

"As such, I am sure we can manage the same type of arrangements for you and Kurosaki as well."

Tsuzuki's head snapped up and the smile he gave was blinding in its intensity and honesty. Dumbledore smiled back as well, before the gentle lines fell back into a more solemn air. "We still have more to discuss, Tsuzuki," he warned.

"Can it wait until Takashi and Kyo are feeling better?" Tsuzuki asked. 

"Very well then. Shall we say Monday, after dinner? Good, good. Lemon drop then?"

                                                   ****************

Harry was in a minor quandary.No, make that a _major_ one.****

What exactly _did_ he feel for Ginny? There was no denying that he enjoyed holding her close, and even more being held. _That_ had been rare enough with the Dursleys that it was a minor miracle that he functioned around people half as well as he did. But what did he really _feel_ when it came to the youngest Weasley? He liked her. That much was definitely for sure. And he really liked the way she had fit in his arms and lap, and the way she kissed, and wow. . .the way she had wiggled when he kissed her, too. But Harry couldn't decide how much of it was just the incredible feeling that someone, _anyone_ thought he was worth the time of day. He squirmed uncomfortably on the hard chair and resisted the temptation to whap his skull against the unyielding surface of his desk. 

And while he was pondering the imponderable, just _what_ had possessed him to agree to meet Ron in the vacant Defense classroom, anyway? It was highly unlikely that his friend had cooled off much at all in the intervening hours. He had been redder than his hair with a weird mix of horror and fury when he had interrupted their snogging session in the infirmary, and Harry was certain that Ron had been a heartbeat away from hexing him into the next century. Which, while it would have saved Voldemort the effort and excused the Boy Who Lived from having to face the evil wizard, was still not something that Harry really wanted to experience.

It was Hermione who had put a stop to what looked to be brewing up as a spectacular row, though. She hissed "_Ron!_ Now is not the time. Professor Lupin sent us up to fetch Madame Pomfrey. This will just have to wait!" And Ron had actually listened. He glared down at his housemate, lying defenseless on the floor, and snarled wordlessly before whirling about and storming off toward Pomfrey's office.

"Um, Hermione?" Harry ventured tentatively. The girl shook her head emphatically.

"Oh, no, Harry. I am _not_ getting in the middle of this. You and Ginny will have to explain for yourselves."  Harry spared a quick glance for the youngest Weasley, and was mortified to feel his entire body, from the tips of his ears right on down to his socks blush violently. Ginny had looked as if she wanted to die.

It was as he contemplated the scarred surface of the desk morosely, that he was suddenly aware of that the classroom was. . .too quiet. Which was ridiculous, really. Of course it was quiet. He was the only one there.

Harry's eyes darted from one shadowed corner to another, convinced that contrary to appearances, he was _not _alone. Even as his breathing escalated, sounding unnaturally harsh and loud in his ears, his hand gripped his wand tightly as his eyes fell on one particular corner where the shadows appeared. . .alive.

The sound of the door opening behind him caused Harry to tense. He almost flew out of his chair to roll into a defensive crouch before he recognized Ron's tread. Although it wasn't quite as quick and firm as it normally was; there was a hesitant shuffle, and the taller red head plunked down in the chair of the desk in front of Harry. Ron's shoulders slumped and he muttered morosely " 'Lo, Harry."

"Erm." Blinking, Harry swallowed. Faced with his potentially still pissed off best friend, he forgot about his earlier paranoia. Poor Ron looked even worse than _he_ felt. And he hadn't been the one caught in a clinch with his best friend's sister, either. Sudden suspicion blossomed in his mind. "Hey, did Hermione and Ginny get after you?" Ron nodded hesitantly. Rather than look up, he tented his too short robes over his knees and focused instead on the scuffed toes of his shoes that were still entirely visible.

"Yeah. 'Mione swore she'd make me rue the day if I so much as yelled at you. And Ginny... Well, Gin offered to make my guts into garters." His clear blue eyes suddenly met Harry's. "Girls are _scary_, mate."

In spite of himself, Harry grinned. "You're just figuring that out _now_!" he exclaimed. Ron managed a small, answering smile. It faded into a worried frown.

"Harry, just what are your intentions toward my sister?" he asked. The words were mild enough, but the manner in which his hands clenched into the fabric of his robes where it stretched over his knees put the lie to it. Threats from the girls could go hang; he intended to get some answers.

I don't know that I have any intentions!" Harry protested. Seeing his friend's face flush dangerously, he hastily amended the statement. "You know what the Dursley's were like, Ron. You lot sprung me, remember? So, it isn't as if I have a lot of experience in the whole hugging and caring department."

Reluctantly, the red head nodded. Harry took it as encouragement to continue. "I mean it when I say that Ginny's a great girl. She's pretty, and smart, and fun to be with. And she has loads of courage – just look at the whole Tom Riddle mess in her first year. She came through it like a real trooper. It's just, when it comes to falling in love, I think I'm the one who's too young for it. I haven't a clue what to do," he confessed quietly.

"If that's the case, then what were the two of you doing in the infirmary!" Ron shouted, forgetting that Hermione and his sister had both promised dire consequences if he did. Harry steeled himself and gave as honest a reply as he could, meeting the other boy's gaze fearlessly.

"I swear, Ron. I would never do anything to hurt her."

At that, Ron relaxed visibly, releasing the sweaty, crumpled fabric of his robes. Self-consciously, he smoothed the worn material. "I know, Harry," he muttered. "But Mum made me promise to look out for her. . .and as for not knowing what to do, you're the same age as Hisoka, and nearly as old as Kyo. And look at _them_ – they're married, for God's sake!"

"Yeah, well. . ." Harry nodded consideringly. "Although, they never seem to be as young as you and me, do they? 'Soka, especially. He always seems to be thinking about stuff." Ron raised an enquiring eyebrow and Harry explained. "They finally told Dumbledore the reason they're here; to help stop Voldemort."

Ron's reflexive flinch at the hated name was expected but it was quickly overridden by his surprise. "They told the Headmaster?"

"Yeah, they did," Harry nodded and subsequently, his face fell into a frown as he remembered just why Takashi had to tell the Headmaster.

"Harry. . ." Ron started softly. He was leaning forwards in his chair, his robes once again clenched in his hands as he stared earnestly at his best friend. "What happened this morning? Was it something to do with Kyo and Hisoka?"

Harry opened his mouth, hesitated, and said, falteringly, "I. . .I mean. . ."

Ron frowned heavily, the expression containing more rebuke than it did anger. It was with a start that Harry realised his best friend had matured since last year and it warmed him, even as Ron's words caused him to wince. "Harry, the _entire school_ was upset. It was like a massive attack of Dementors except there weren't _any_ Dementors. Lupin and the other professors had to get everyone to the Great Hall and dispense Calming Draughts. The only ones missing were you, Ginny, Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, Pomfrey, and the Japanese. It doesn't take a genius or a Hermione to figure out that it must have had something to do with one or all of you."

Seeing Harry's indecision, Ron added, dryly, "Not to mention there's a rumour flying around that Hisoka killed Kyo."

Harry flinched, before protesting, "He was just hurt! Not killed. . ." and sighed, seeing that red eyebrow raised again. "They were having a swordfight," he finally admitted and quickly added, "I didn't know they've been doing it regularly either. It got too intense and. . ." Harry spread his hands palms up on the desk, "Kyo was hurt. But Hisoka healed him."

"Healed him?" Ron asked, the confusion evident. "Is he a healer or something?"

Harry shrugged. "I guess. I mean, how else can you explain the fact that Kyo survived a stabbing like that? But Merlin," he shuddered, "It was horrible. . all that blood. . ."

They fell silent, Ron studying him intently, and Harry studying his hands in turn.

"You okay, mate?"

"Yeah. . .just. . .yeah," Harry shot him a painful smile.

"You still haven't told me about what happened in the infirmary though," Ron reminded him gently and he was surprised at how Harry's face blanched immediately, the color draining out. "Harry?"

The stillness that fell over the room was expectant, underscored by the distant sounds of voices of the students of Hogwarts settling down. Harry pulled back his hands, burying them in the folds of his robes as he studiously avoided Ron's steady gaze. "Kyo was brought to the infirmary by Pomfrey and McGonagall. They gave him a sleeping potion and. . .he had a nightmare and couldn't wake up."

Ron shifted uneasily. There was something in Harry's tone that warned him that there was more to the nightmare. "It wasn't. . .it wasn't a vision right? I mean, he doesn't have visions right?"

Harry shook his head emphatically. "No, not a vision. It was a nightmare of. . something that happened to him a while back."

"How do you know that?" Ron asked, frowning again. "Did he tell you?"

Harry laughed; a short, sharp sound. "Hardly. He. . ." he eyed Ron warily. "He was projecting his nightmare to all of us. And I guess it spread out to the school as well."

"How could he project his nightmare? And I didn't see anything. I just felt very. . ." Ron tried to search for the right words. "I felt. . .despair."

Trying to shrug indifferently, Harry said "I think only the ones closest to him at the time saw the nightmare and I guess it thinned out."

"So what was the nightmare about?"

"I can't tell you," Harry answered in a flat voice. When Ron looked to protest, he quickly went on. "No, Ron. I _can't. _What happened to him was terrible and I have no right to tell anyone what it was about."

The silence between words was becoming all too familiar. "It was that bad huh?" Ron tried to go for a light tone but failed miserably.

"Yeah. Just be grateful that you _didn't _see the nightmare. I don't know how I'm going to sleep tonight," Harry finished unhappily. "Or Ginny for that matter."

"Oh." Ron was silent for a moment, struggling to accept, then suddenly clapped his hands sharply. Harry jumped at the sound, shooting his friend an irritated look. "At least Professor Matsumada is there to take care of him, right? I'll bet Dumbledore's gonna let up on them now since they told him the real reason they're here for."

Harry murmured an indistinct agreement. He had a feeling that Dumbledore would take a bit more convincing than that but he hoped Ron was right, all the same.

"So you saw their swordfight?" Ron asked and Harry nodded. "It must have been awesome! What with them using real swords and everything."

"Yeah," Harry nodded reluctantly, the distance of time between the event and the remembering buffering some of the horror he had felt seeing his friend crumpled on the ground, red staining the leaves. His face slowly brightened as he recalled some of the amazing moves Kyo and Hisoka had pulled. He doubted that even a wizard with his wand could have stood up to them if they fought like that. "It was incredible. They were moving so fast and. . .it was like they were dancing."

"Like when they took on the manticore!" Ron enthused. "I was too busy panicking then to really pay attention but they were unbelievable!" A stray thought struck him, and he suddenly blushed a furious shade of red. "You know, before all this," Ron waved his hands around vaguely and when Harry raised his eyebrow, he elaborated, "Before I caught you snogging my sister?" and he chuckled evilly when Harry blushed a bright red as well. "I was so worried that you were going to turn gay."

"You were _what_?!" Startled, Harry squawked, "_Ron!_ That is so stupid! It isn't as if gayness were some disease that you could catch!"

"Yeah, well. . .It's gonna be a hard choice. If you turn out to be gay, then my sister is safe. But if you're _not_, I don't have to worry about that awful Skeeter woman getting an earful any time soon and blabbing your preferences to the entire Muggle_ and_ wizarding world." Ron shuddered delicately. "It's a hard decision, mate. To save Ginny, or not."

Harry was laughing so hard that his eyes teared, and he could feel the beginnings of a stitch in his side. "Oh, you'd better not tell that to Ginny. She'll kill you!"

Ron's normal grin was back in full force, seeing thatthe tension that had gripped his friend since Samhain wasfinally lifting. It seemed odd to be hiding out in the disused classroom on a bright, sunny Sunday morning. But on the other hand, it was just so bloody good to have his best mate back again. 

A jolt of warmth sped through Ron, leaving him happier than he had felt in days. Hogwarts had survived yet another horrific  - even if insubstantial assault – and he had Harry back with him. 

                                                       ***************

Kyo woke up. A slow process of eyelids fluttering like new butterflies emerging from their cocoon. He was peripherally aware that he was on his side and that he was warm from the blanket all over, but his front was definitely warmer, like someone had placed a giant hot water bottle before him. The world filtered in like brief flashes of a developing picture; a hint of red-gold, light amber skin, white sheets.

When his eyelids finally deigned to stay open long enough for him to understand that kaleidoscope that was his vision, he saw Takashi before him, also lying on his side and facing him. Kyo did not smile and neither did Takashi. If anything, Takashi looked as though he had been crying. His eyes were red-rimmed and his lightly tanned skin had a pale undertone.

For one, brief but joyous moment, he thought that they were in Takashi's apartment which he had yet to step foot in. But the reality that was the narrow bed they were in, the stark whiteness of the room and bed itself intruded. Kyo had been in enough hospitals and infirmaries in his life and undead life to know when he was in one. But he pushed aside that niggling disappointment, grateful at least, that he had Takashi.

Takashi's right hand lay half-curled between them, on neutral territory. It neither touched him nor did it retreat away but stayed, waiting. A smile finally did curve Kyo's lips; a ghost of an expression and he took Takashi's hand in his, tugging it to him gently. Takashi relented, his eyes blinking rapidly as Kyo brought their hands together to his mouth and, his blue eyes fixed on Takashi's, kissed his husband's hand. He kissed each knuckle, each fingertip and paid devotion to the soft skin of Takashi's palm. Takashi's breath caught somewhere between his chest and his throat; an odd hitching that spilled the tears that teetered at the edge. Kyo snuggled closer; Takashi's hand still caught in his and kissed the tears away as well.

When the tears had dried and the redness in Takashi's eyes had disappeared (it's so wonderful, being a Shinigami), Kyo slid off the bed, slipping his feet into the slippers that waited and went to the bathroom. Coming back, he saw that Takashi had taken the liberty to order him some breakfast, evidentby the tray of light broth, hot rolls and tea. He crawled back into the bed, Takashi sliding around to sit behind him as Kyo arranged himself to settle comfortably between Takashi's legs. As he sipped the hot broth and picked delicately at the rolls, Takashi's hands roamed all over his body, tracing contours but always staying on top of the cotton pyjamas. Takashi nuzzled his neck lightly, his fingers brushing away the fringe of fine hair on the nape of his neck. Kyo said nothing, merely tilting his head that way, or shifting aside minutely so that Takashi could touch him better.

When he finally gave up on his breakfast, setting the tray aside, Takashi gathered Kyo in his arms and they proved, once again, that they were merely part of a whole, that neither could live without the other. Their chest rose and fell in perfect rhythm, their fingers intertwined and their lips barely kissing.

They could have stayed like that indefinitely, but for Takashi finally breaking the silence that had gripped them since Kyo had awoken.

"What happened yesterday, love?" Takashi asked softly.

The body he believed to be his own, because without it in his arms, he felt the phantom pain of a missing limb, stiffened and their one rhythm of breathing broke as Kyo's hitched, much like his hadearlier. "Kyo?" He nudged the boy's face with his, urging him to lift his eyes and look back at him. "Hisoka said something about a letter."

"It was from the Count," Kyo grated out. His hand clutched the front of Takashi's sweater greedily, kneading it restlessly.

Takashi froze as well, his eyes widening. "Th—the Count?" he faltered. "What did he say?"

Kyo mewled, a pathetic, desperate sound as he tried to disappear in Takashi's stiff embrace. Takashi hugged him tighter in response, instinctively offering the comfort his husband sought. "Hikaru and Ken," Kyo finally gasped out. "Hikaru and Ken are dead."

"Enma," Takashi whispered. Kyo had tucked himself into a tight little ball of hurt, his head just bumping Takashi's chin and Takashi rocked him gently, his own tears falling to wet the boy's raven black hair. "Oh, Enma. . ."

Kyo was crying; great, gasping sobs that was painful in its silence. "We never got to say goodbye."

"I know, love, I know." Takashi rubbed his face in Kyo's hair, and in that brief moment, he damned the world for asking too much of them.The curse of a Shinigami: to exist, unchanging, while the mortal world went on without them. It was one thing to know, intellectually, that the friends that had brought them together, had shown them how wonderful it was to love and be loved, would eventually grow old and die. It was quite another to be slapped in the face by the reality of that loss.

"We never got to say goodbye."

*****to be continued*****

**A/N: **For the enlightenment of those who did not read the **Kojiki**** Trilogy, **Hikaru and Ken are Kyo's best friends and subsequently, Takashi's. Hikaru was responsible for getting the two lovable idiots that we know as Kyo and Takashi to admit their feelings for one another and Hikaru and Ken were the only ones who knew that they were married. They were there at the wedding after all.

Let's all have a moment of silence for Hikaru and Ken (they married each other in the end btw) and for her immortal words to Kyo: _If plastic rulers can bend, why can't you?_

Again, do take a look at the fanart done for this story by **Literary Eagle **at my mailing list. It's beautiful! And I wish to apologise for the delay of this chapter. I failed to keep up with my weekly updates due to a bad case of apathy and general laziness. Gomen!

**                                                        ***************

**                                                        Special Notice!!**

**                                                        ***************

_For those who actually care and wonder about the amount of work we put in to the story, Librarycat aka Lisa, has compiled a file on the yamabushi that can be found at the mailing list as well. _

_I humbly admit here, that a majority of the western and eastern influences in this story (especially the yamabushi) is a result of Lisa's hard work. It's wonderful having a librarian as your friend. ^___^_

_On that note; is anyone interested in reading the Plot Bashing Files me and Lisa have on the plot development for WDCAK?_


	25. Chapter 25:Foreshadowing

**Title: **When Death Comes a'Knocking: Book 1 – Of Revelations

**Plot Mistresses: **Shiozaki, Shaynie, Librarycat, Literary Eagle

**Spell Researchers: **Fellow wizards, witches & omnyouji at my Yahoo!Group

**Warning: **R – LEMON AHEAD! BEWARE! Please exercise due caution. SPOILER FOR THE MANGA CONCERNING THE KUROSAKI FAMILY!

**Scene Masters: **Shiozaki and Librarycat

**Review replies:**

**Quatre Winner, Yui-mag, Literary Eagle, Yanagi-sen, Tatsuko, Aka, hitsuji, cmquietone, DK-Adeena, hitomibishop, Lilo: **Your constant presence in the review sections warms my cold, lonely heart which yearns for approval and affections. *sniff*

**Daemonchan: **You're damn right it's been a long time since we heard from you. *Sniff* I was feeling unloved, what with a number of the old readers disappearing on me. . .

**Inami: **I thought the 'plastic ruler' quote was quite inspirational myself! *grin* And the first of the plot bashing file, aptly titled Plot Bashing Vol. 1 is up in the Files section in the mailing list. Been waiting for people to give it a look-see, discuss, but. . . .

                                                                 Chapter 25 

**                                                             Foreshadowing**

Snape leaned against the cold wall, his wand held almost negligently in one hand. Here, free from prying and inquisitive eyes, Snape let his usual mask drop and the sneer was replaced with a contemplative look, thoughtfulness placinga crease between his eyebrows and softening the harsh lines bracketing his mouth.

The door to his side stayed closed, a fragile illusion that the occupants inside had privacy undisturbed. He should know how delicate that mirage was; he had just shattered it earlier with a whispered spell that sent a jet of red light streaking underneath the door. The eavesdropping was impromptu; he had meant to announce himself but the low murmur of voices from inside stopped him, the door opened a bare crack. Just as silently as he opened, it, he had closed the door again and launched the spell.

The glass sphere in his other hand was rapidly filling with red smoke. The size of a remembrall, it was a spying tool for the most novice but it served its purpose well. With just a tap of his wand, he could hear again and again, the conversation in the room beyond that he recorded.

_"It was from the Count."_

_"Th—the Count? What did he say?"_

_"Hikaru and Ken are dead."_

The rest was merely low sobbing, sounding tinny yet even more heartbreaking for it. Snape shifted uneasily on his feet. Yesterday's incident was sure to have caused the balance to shift but the instructions by the Headmaster to keep the Japanese under careful surveillance was a standing order, one that had yet to be revoked. But. . .he gripped the glass sphere tighter, there were times when you had to be ruthless to get what you want and there were times. . .

With a sharp crack, the glass broke and red mist drifted away, spinning on errant breezes.

In one decisive move, Snape pushed off the wall, his heeled boots impossibly making little sound on the stone floor. Just as he was about to shove the infirmary's main doors open, theyswung in, almost knocking into the professor if he hadn't quickly stepped to the side. Snape scowled fiercely, a scathing attack ready to fall like the hammer of judgement on the witless fool when said fool spoke up before he could.

"Severus!" Lupin exclaimed. "I've been looking all over for you!"

Snape sneered. "A daunting task for one of your capacity, I'm sure," his earlier discomfort lending a sharper edge to his retort. He was rewarded with a slight flinch from Lupin before the werewolf recovered his usual mild-mannered composure.

"Albus wants to see you and me. He's been talking to Tsuzuki and wants to discuss it with us," Lupin said evenly.

Snape snarled wordlessly, rudely pushing past Lupin as he stalked out into the halls of Hogwarts. Left in the Potions professor's wake, Lupin watched helplessly as frightened students scattered like rabbits in the face of Snape's apparent bad mood.

                                                ******************

The roar of the crowd was like that of a monster; it reverberated throughout the entire pitch, shaking through the wooden stands and for a moment, Kyo fancied he could feel tremors under his feet. The crowd hungered like a beast as well, screaming for the players as they swooped and dived, all for the sake of a game.

While the rest of the school was up in the stands that were more magic than they werewood, Kyo was down at the very edge of the pitch, leaning against one of the supports. Even down here, his bones ached with the roars and cheers of the multitude of supporters: one side clad in red and gold, the other in blue and bronze. Years of living mostly in the peaceful solitude of Meifu had lowered his already thin tolerance for large throngs and he winced as the cheering reached a particularly high pitch. His black cloak snapped back in the rising wind, the fabric flaring out and twirling about his legs. The warming charm in the cloak protected him a little from the encroaching winter; the frost that already seared the ground fast seeped through his shoes, numbing his toes. For a moment, he fancied the temptingthought of warming the earth.

But to do so was to abuse his powers. A delicate and precise balance lay in the elements; what one lost, the other gained. The world was moving on its natural course towards death and rebirth. For him to wittingly give it life was to make presumption of his powers over the natural order.

_Still. . ._he sighed internally. _Sometimes I wish I could give the 'jiisan a kick. All his talk about order and balance makes me too responsible for my own good. _Just the memory of the old Shinigami who had taught Kyo how to master his power was enough to bring a faint smile to his face. The old man had moved on after deeming that there was nothing more he could possibly pound into his head.

Kyo's head lolled back, his bangs falling into his eyes as he lazily tracked the black dots that were the Quidditch players flying high above. If he squinted his eyes just so, he could make out the undulating _kehai _of gold that was Harry's. For someone so young, the boy had an impressive aura; one that with proper training, could rival Tsuzuki's athis height. There were blocks preventing that currently, silver and grey filaments in the otherwise pure color but that was inevitable. Should the matter they were sent here for be concluded in Harry's favour. . .but that was counting your eggs before they hatch. 

The air before him shimmered and a high-pitched humming grated across his ears. The previously sluggish element shivered with a sudden influx of energy that caused agitated rainbows sparkling around like a mad painter gone wild with his brushes. Kyo winced.

"Do not conquer the world with force, for force only causes resistance. Thorns spring up when an army passes. Years of misery follow a great victory. Do only what needs to be done. Without using violence," he quoted softly. Without moving his head, his eyes slid to his right where an imposing figure in black stood waiting for acknowledgement. "Professor," he inclined his head in respect.

"Shiozaki." The customary sneer was gone, replaced with a studied indifference. The Potions Master's sudden appearance, complete with lack of hostility intrigued Kyo. He turned slightly, keeping the wooden post behind him as support. From the professors' stand, he could make out Takashi's instinctive _kehai _flare; worry coloring the usual green fire a warm orange. He sent back a wordless assurance and the flare died down, though there was still a tendril of inquisitiveness caressing his mind.

"An interesting saying," Snape commented mildly. "From?"

Kyo shrugged infinitesimally. "I forget," he said, lips twitching into a half-smile. "Some Zen thing. It felt appropriate."

"Oh?" Snape raised a black eyebrow. "And why's that?"

Kyo waved a hand vaguely, indicating around them. "The spell you cast. Some sort of ward against. . ." he closed his eyes briefly, "Sound?"

Snape nodded once, admiration lightening his onyx dark eyes. "A privacy bubble," he clarified.

"Western magic is very harsh," Kyo continued blandly. "I'm not saying it's an inferior style but the way your will and power bends the very fabric of magic to suit your purpose. . ." Kyo smiled suddenly. "But you're not here to talk about differences in Eastern and Western discipline, ne, Professor?"

Snape's earlier indifference collapsed like a tower of cards to reveal an interesting mix of dread and. . .nervousness? Kyo tilted his head a fraction of an inch, his smile fixed. Snape took one precise step closer, his robes swirling around his legs, the hem touching Kyo's cloak briefly and Kyo wondered whether he could contract the professor's apparent edginess with just that brief touch. The brown, dead grass crackled under the man's booted feet, the stalks bent and crushed heedlessly. Kyo felt a pang of pity stir inside, his power whispering to him that he could make it alright, that he could give life to the dead, brittle grass and cold, cold earth.

Kyo told his power to shut up.

"I came to apologise," Snape said abruptly. "And to give you this." With one quick movement, he shoved a piece of folded parchment into the boy's hand.

Kyo blinked, looking up in surprise. Unaware that the brief tussle with his magic had caused his irises to flash an intense white at the edges, reminding the professor harshly of a desert and a black, faded armchair, Kyo's smile disappeared.

"Apologise?" he repeated warily. He looked down to his closed fist as though it was an alien appendage, one that did not belong to him. Carefully, he opened the folded parchment and the familiar writing inside made him frown.

"The directions to your. . .husband's apartment. The Headmaster has seen fit to grant some allowances for you and your friends."

A smile lit up Kyo's face, only to disappear again as he remembered the professor's earlier statement 

"And your seemingly pointless apology?" Kyo asked, a very faint note of teasing in his voice.

"I'm sure you're aware of the fact that I was present, along with others during your. . .dreaming," Snape stopped, shocked silent when the young man's previously almost-friendly expression changed to that of cold apathy. He had seen a gamut of expressions on that face: from kittenish playfulness**,** to a gravity belonging to an adult**,** to a wistfulness that softened the harsh edges. But when that mobile face restructured its clean lines to frosted blankness, it rammed home again the fact that despite the boy's partner's assurance that they werethere to help, this was also the very same boy who had the power to affect the thousand-year old wards that protected Hogwarts, laid down by the very best practitioners of magic. Snape almost expected the same sort of display of raw magic as in the infirmary and was absurdly grateful, and strangely disappointed when nothing happened.

The fortitude and pure guts that would have otherwise seen him placed in Gryffindor if it wasn't tempered with a more than healthy dose of cunning propelled Snape to finish what he started. "I am certain that if you had been in any condition to have a say in the matter, that I am easily the last person that you would wish privy to your secrets," he tugged nervously on the tight sleeves that encased his wrists. If his students were to see him now! He gave his sleeves a final tug, before drawing himself up to his full height, gathering his cloak about his shoulders. It was a peculiarly dignified stance, one that thawed the iciness on Kyo's eyes and the taut lines bracketing the boy's mouth disappeared.

"I have done things, Mr. Shiozaki, of which I am not proud of. That is the nature of my life. I was, and am, a Slytherin. We are consummate survivors. But at the same time, I regret. . .what was done to you. I am sorry." He turned to go, his quick movements whipping the folds of his robes around his long legs. He had not even taken threesteps when a voice, soft and strangely curious, stopped him in his tracks. 

"Why?"

He halted, his robes which were as much as a meter of his moods as werehis black eyes, stilled and inexpressive in their ceased flaring. "Because, Mr. Shiozaki," Snape said slowly, not bothering to look behind him, his words exact and formal in their cadence and laced with bitter humour, "The ones to whom I owe my true apology to are either dead or beyond caring."

                                                ******************

Goosebumps were creeping up Harry's arms, making him tremble with exhaustion. The strain of flying in slow figure-eights, scanning for that momentary spark of light that would tell him where the Snitch was, was wearing at him. Perhaps he shouldn't have insisted on playing; should have let Criss have the Seeker's position for once. But out of all the things that he had come to hold dear since discovering his wizarding heritage, Quidditch was still the one thing that was pure, unsullied by the war with Voldemort. Oh, sure, he had nearly died thanks to Quirrell's efforts, but it wasn't quite the same thing. 

Now, if he just weren't so damned cold. And tired. Let's not forget tired. And confused, he added reflectively, noting Ginny. The girl's streaming red hair shone like newly minted Knuts, and a surge of anxiety tightened his stomach in ways that had nothing to do with being the team's Captain. She was swooping into a drawn out barrel roll as her hand shot out to snatch the Quaffle from the air. A Bludger streaked past her, missing her shoulder by a good foot. Her spiralling motion brought her upright just in time to heave the smaller ball past the Ravenclaw Keeper. Harry had to fight the urge to scream and cheer with the rest of the Gryffindors. 

The Quaffle returned to play, and then it was Harry's turn to execute a controlled roll to avoid a Bludger. The surge of adrenaline warmed him for a moment and cleared out some of the lassitude that was fogging his brain. Below him, one of the Gryffindor Chasers – _his _Chasers – managed a perfectly timed interception. He darted with unbelievable speed between the Ravenclaw Beaters, stealing the Quaffle from the Chaser that they were supposed to be protecting. When the opposing players closed on the Gryffindor, intending to force a pass to Ginny, the boy feinted and heaved the ball underhanded to their third Chaser instead. She swiped the Quaffle out of the air and headed for the goals, passing back and forth with her team mates, avoiding the murderous attacks of the opposing Beaters. Their goal widened the gap between the two Houses to eighty points.

The game being played out was interesting from a strategic standpoint, but Harry realised that he was letting himself get distracted from _his_ job: Seeking. He eyes sought out Cho, finding the dark-haired girl easily. It was tempting to see if he could trick her into thinking he had spotted the Snitch, but it probably wouldn't be worth it. Cho was intimately familiar with that kind of a ruse, and it wasn't likely that Harry would be able to trick her. Sighing, he turned his attention back to a careful scan of the playing field's air space.

The weather had eased some, over night, and Harry understood that to a large extent it was due to Kyo's improved mental state. He had a guilty suspicion that he ought to be scared that Kyo, his cheerful, sometimes silly, occasionally wise Japanese friend, had a power like that. Oddly enough, he wasn't frightened by the older boy. Kyo was still just the unexpected saviour who had made the preceding summer bearable, who had taken care of him when he was sick. 

As if summoned by his very thoughts, Harry's eyes fell on the Gryffindor stand and he immediately noted the lone figure at the very back of the bleachers. Kyo was watching. Happiness surged through the English boy,chasing away the last of the cobwebs from his head and Harry grinned. Kyo raised one hand in a brief, laconic salute and, to the younger wizard'sbafflement, pointed somewhere to his left.

Harry turned his head and yelped, launching into an immediate sloth roll not a moment too soon as a Bludger whizzed past. Heart in his mouth, Harry righted himself, cursing the Ravenclaw Beaters when to his utter amazement, a small, golden winged ball fluttered just a few inches from his nose. Automatically, his hand snapped out and the Snitch was caught.

"Gryffindor wins the first game of the season!"

The crowd erupted into cheers, applause, and not a few boos and jeers from the Slytherin side. The Snitch beating helplessly in his fist, the boydescended on to the pitch and was immediately enveloped in a scarlet and gold flood. As Ron was beating his back, shouting out his glee, Harry noticed that Kyo was not among the well-wishers, even those daunted by the jubilant crowd and hanging back at the fringes. Hermione pushed her way in, kissing Harry and Ron's cheek soundly, the latter blushing a bright red, before announcing that she had some research to do in the library.

Harry and Ron watched her run off with identical looks of fondness mixed with a slight hint of exasperation. Ron clapped his back again, saying directly into his ear, "Party in the common room, mate."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, you go on first. I need to speak with Kyo a bit."

Ron shrugged, smiling crookedly as Ginny finally managed to plant a quick peck as well. Harry was still blushing as the stadium emptied, his feet booming out a hollow beat on the wooden steps as he climbed up. Kyo was still sitting where he last saw his friend and with a quick smile from Kyo, Harry dropped into the seat beside him.

Kyo, as was his wont whenever Harry was less thana foot away from him, slung an arm over the boy's shoulder, hugging himclose. With a contented little sigh, Harry duly snuggled into the older boy's embrace, the heat from Kyo's body a comfy blanket after the adrenaline wore off and the late autumn made its presence known. His Firebolt set safely aside, Harry took a moment to wonder at how much he'd changed in the course of justover three months. The Harry back then tended to bite first and ask questions later, to shy away from physical contact that was more than a handshake from anyone but Ron or Hermione. This Harry was quite happy to accept the random hugs and cuddles offered by both Kyo _and _Takashi. If he was to be vocal about it, he'd say that the couple couldn't keep their hands off of him. In the nicest way possible, of course. And being around the taciturn Takashi and (usually) laid back Kyo had rubbed off on him. So much so that when he thought back to his fifth year, he winced at the mere recollection of what a prat he had been, to himself and to his friends.

Kyo shifted, turning his body in to shield the shivering form next to himfrom the rising wind and with his mouth close to the boy's ear, murmured softly, "I'm sorry."

Harry faced his friend, puzzlement creasing his forehead. "For what?"

Kyo sighed, running a hand through his black hair, mussed beyond recall thanks to the wind, a reflection of the other teen's unruly mop."That. . ." he closed his eyes briefly before opening them again to stare into Harry's bright green ones. "That you had to see what happened to me. . .I wasn't exactly planning to _ever _let you know that little part of my life," he added wryly.

The English wizard shook his head fiercely, instinctively giving his frienda tight hug. Kyo stiffened, surprised, as Harry wasn't the type to initiate physical contact himself, but he immediately relaxed, even going so far as to rest his chin on the boy'sthick, flyaway hair. "Don't," Harry said, his rebuke muffled in Kyo's sweater.

He felt, rather than heard Kyo sigh. "Still. . ."

Harry pushed the young manback, holding Kyo's gaze as he said, slowly, "If. . .I'm the one who should be sorry!" he blurted out and promptly flushed.

Kyo blinked slowly, looking as puzzled as if he had discovered a new life form and was wondering what to call it. "You're. . .sorry?" he clarified with a mystified air.

Harry nodded miserably.

And flinched back, glaring up at Kyo who had whapped him upside the head. "What was that for?!" he demanded.

"For being a bloody martyr," Kyo told him blandly. The older boy sighed, tugging Harry closer as the wizard fussed with the back of his head. His hands on Harry's shoulders, Kyo looked at him straight in the eyes, saying slowly, and clearly, "Were you the one who set Akuma on us?" he asked point blank, not even wavering when he said the demon's name.

Harry blushed a deep red, shaking his head silently. 

"And were you the one who cursed me?"

More silent denial.

"Then what gives you the right to assume that burden of guilt?" Kyo asked quietly. "You can't be the entire world's saviour, Harry. No matter how much you want to be."

Harry cringed, dropping Kyo's gaze as he fiddled with the hem of his Quidditch robe sleeves. "I. . .I guess Voldemort _isn't _responsible for all of the world's evil, huh?" he laughed shakily.

"No, Harry. There's more evil in this life than just Voldemort. Unfortunately," Kyo said dryly.

"It's just. . ." He tried to search for the right words, his eyes flashing behind the lensesof his glasses and the hem of his sleeve tore under his furious picking. "I'm _The-Boy-Who-Lived! _My entire life has been about Voldemort! Without this stupid scar I'm nothing! What am I supposed to do when _he's _gone? I don't know _how _to not worry and save people! Am I still Harry Potter then, or do I lose the right to be him?"

Kyo's longer, more slender fingers gently closed over his, stopping further abuse of his robes. Moving automatically, Harry buried himself in Kyo's embrace, the Japanese silently rubbing his back as Harry wiped away telltale tears that threatened to drop.

"I know it seems like the entire world sees you as nothing more than that scar and your. . .title," Kyo coughed delicately. "But does it really matter what the entire world thinks?" Kyo drew back from the hug, gently tipping the other boy'schin up and brushing away an errant tear. "Ron doesn't," he reminded Harry softly. "Neither doHermione, Dumbledore, Lupin. . ."

"And. . ." Harry hesitated, hiccupping. "And you? And Takashi?" he asked hopefully.

Kyo smiled broadly. "And me and Takashi," he confirmed. "Not to mention a whole family of redheads, I might add. As well as a couple of other Japanese whom shall remain nameless," he teased, though something dark flashed in his eyes, gone in an instant. "Besides," he added slyly, "A certain Weasley seems to find you _quite _attractive for yourself."

Harry was mortified beyond belief. Blushing a violent tomato red that rivalled said Weasley's hair, he squeaked out, "W-w-what?!"

"Tch, don't try to fool me," Kyo chided him, an unholy gleam in his eyes. "That kiss just now seemed to say a lot, ne?"

"You saw?" Harry asked faintly.

"I do have eyes you know," was the glib reply. "Tell me, has it gone beyond a simple peck on the cheeks? Have you been sneaking around behind my back?"

The deepestred that his face was capable of producing betrayed him and Kyo crowed delightedly. "I knew it! By Enma, I knew it!"

The smaller teengroaned, rather fatalistically, and tried to wish that the sky would fall on him, preferably in the next instant, but no such luck. Kyo kept on pestering him for details and when he finally broke down, the Japanese teased him mercilessly all the way back to the locker rooms, empty now save for them.

Even when Harry was in the showers, Kyo kept up a steady commentary on how proud he was, that Harry was all grown up now and soon he'dbe having little Harry's running around and what wouldhe name his firstborn?

It was as Harry was towelling himself down (still blushing a fierce red), that Kyo suddenly fell silent in mid-spiel about the uniqueness of Japanese names in British society. Concerned, Harry quickly donned his clean robes, his hair still damp and he padded out to the locker area where Kyo waited.

The Japanese was standing in the middle of the room, head cocked to the side and a look of intense concentration on his face. His eyes were trained on a shadowed corner of the room, where the pile of soiled robes that the house elves had yet to pick up lay steaming. Harry, directed by his friend's stare, looked as well and it might have been a trick of the low light but he could have sworn that the pile of robes weren't robes, but _something else._

Harry blinked, and that fanciful impression was gone.

"Kyo?" he called out, grabbing his Firebolt and tugging at the older boy's sleeves. "Kyo?"

The slim youthstarted, as though only now aware of the other boy'spresence. His smile was tight, forced, and the grip he had on Harry's elbow was almost painful. "C'mon, let's get out of here."

"Did you sense something?" Harry asked curiously. By now, he was quite used to Kyo and the other Japanese's ability to sense more of the world around them than the average wizard was able to. He knew he wasn't the only who noticed that the Japanese could always tell who was approaching them, even without looking. It was almost Dumbledore-ish, that talent of theirs. Hermione was one of the few who did as well, but only because she frequently hung out with them.

Kyo hesitated, again throwing another look back over his shoulder as he hustled Harry out of the locker room. "It's. . .I must have imagined it," he answered ruefully. "I haven't exactly had the most restful night anyway. . ." he trailed off. He reached into the pocket of his jeans and withdrew a piece of folded parchment, thoughtfully fiddling with it.

"What's that?"

"Hmm?" Kyo, to Harry's amazement, actually blushed; more of a faint tinge of pink to his cheeks rather than a fire engine red, but it was still a blush. "The Headmaster's relaxed some of the restrictions for us. . .these arethe directions to Takashi's apartment."

Harry grinned. If there was one thing he knew for sure about his friends, it was that the enforced separation pained them. Especially since Takashi had confessed one summer night that he and Kyo rarely went without one another. That was made even more obvious overthe past couple of months with Kyo's usual cheer dimming steadily and dark shadows under Takashi's eyes.

"That's great!" Harry enthused. "You finally get to spend time with each other!"

"Yeah, great. . ." the Japaneseechoed.

"You don't sound too happy about it." Harry frowned.

"No, no!" Kyo protested, waving the parchment around agitatedly. "I am! I am," he finished softly. He fingered the parchment, seeing beyond it to something that Harry couldn't.

"Kyo?" Harry touched his friend's elbow worriedly.

Forcibly shaking off his sudden melancholy, he shot Harry a bright grin. "So what do you think of 'Kyo' as your son's name?" he asked brightly and was instantly rewarded with a drawn out groan from the young wizard.

"Kyo! Cut it out!"

                                                ******************

The library was quiet, even more so with almost the entirety of the school out at the pitch for the first Quidditch game of the season. Even the most studious of the Ravenclaws had abandoned their haven to support their House team and Hisoka revelled in the peace and sanctuary to be found there.

Tucked in a little alcove wherewhat little sun there was shone warmly through the leaded glass window, the empath didn't so much read as just staring blankly at the book on the history of arithmancy and its development. He was only vaguely aware that the game had ended when the 'noise' level of the usual flood of emotions inthe school slowly returned to its normal levels. The usual humdrum feelings weretinged with more joy though, and ecstatic glee, as well as some bitter resentment. Hisoka didn't have to ask to know that Gryffindor must have won the match.

The deluge of emotions was starting to seep through the library as well, effectively cutting short his peaceful meditation. Or what was _supposed _to be peaceful meditation. Tsuzuki always said that Hisoka could stew in silent misery with the best of them.

He snorted quietly. 'Stewing' was practically a required skill for all Shinigami (save for Watari who preferred a far more volatile method to drown his troubles in). He just happened to have it down to a fine art, that was all.

"Hisoka? May I join you?"

Startled from the request itself, Hisoka nodded his acquiescence before he knew it. Beaming, the bushy haired girl dropped an armful of thick, dusty tomes on the table, causing it to groan pathetically under the weight.

"You weren't at the game." Hermione noted, already opening a book and throwing him an inquisitive look.

Hisoka sighed, kneading the spot between his eyebrows. "I hate crowds," he muttered.

"I know what you mean," Hermione clucked sympathetically. "I can't stand it myself, but since it's for Harry and Ron. . ." she shrugged.

The blondgrunted noncommittally and Hermione went on, looking at him from the corner of her eyes. "There's a new rumour going round the school about Halloween," she offered quietly.

He did nothing more than to raise one fine eyebrow. Hermione went on, undaunted. "Somehow, it leaked out that Harry got. . .involved with the Wild Hunt. But that's it really; there isn't much in the way of details." Hisoka made some sound of relief at that, if she had translated it correctly. "Can you. . .can you tell me what happened? What _really _happened?" she asked in a rush. "Usually Harry tells us but. . ." she bit her lip.

"And it's up to Harry," Hisoka said shortly. "It's none of my business anyway." Seeing the girl's frown, hesighed. "Give him time. Maybe he'll tell you eventually. Or not."

Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation and to the empath'ssurprise, she actually gave him an affectionate sort of smile. "You don't believe in coddling people, do you?" she asked rhetorically, with more than a hint of mischief.

Hisoka decided that he would not deign to answer that.

The minutes ticked by quite pleasantly then but Hisoka was shifting around in his seat, agitated, the book in front of himno longer holding his interest. Hermione had always been the one the reticent youthfound easiestto relate to; both devoted bookworms, they had spent a few evenings by the Gryffindor Tower's fireplace discussing the latest books they read, or a theory Hisoka wanted explained. Deciding that he'd prefer tospend the time in a debate with the girl, rather than pretend to be absorbed in his book, Hisoka turned to Hermione, thinking of asking her opinion on the structure of western spells when he finally noticed the titles of the books she was going through.

_The Customs of Feudal Japan._

_Old Families, Old Names, Old Traditions: Japan Uncovered._

_Great Wizarding Families of Japan._

Hisoka's jade green eyes narrowed. "Hermione," he said quietly, "What are you doing with those books?"

Hermione looked up from the old tome she was currently reading, the pages yellowed and crackling between her fingers. "I'm doing an extra-credit project for History of Magic!" she said brightly. "With you and the others around, I thought I'd research Japanese wizarding families and do a comparison study and. . .Hisoka? Are you alright?"

"Where in the seven hells did you get _that_?" Hisoka's low voice, normally a quiet monotone, was shaking with rage and disbelief. Hermione stopped dead in her questions and stared at the blond boy. His gaze was fixed on the book in front of her.****

"Hisoka. . .?" He flinched clumsily from her instinctive reach, stumbling out of his chair and backing into the corner of the next library table with enough force that it probably would leave a bruise on his hip. It was as if he didn't feel that sharp impact at all. Hermione rose slowly, careful to not spook him, but his eyes still cut to her, captured by her movement.

"I said, where the hells did you get that?!" Hysteria was rising as his features paled, leaving two spots of vivid color behind on his cheekbones. Hermione gaped. She didn't know what to say. She looked from the book open on the table, to the retreating boy, and back to the book. She couldn't see why it should have such an effect on Hisoka.

The man in the photo was broad shouldered and confident in a traditional kimono in shades of gold and blue, layered over with embroidered chrysanthemums in a darker shade of bronze. Sleek honey blond hair that was streaked with wheat gold caressed his strong jaw line and was gathered into a thick pony tail that flowed over his shoulder. She considered briefly that it was too bad that it wasn't a wizarding photograph; forever frozen in shadow, she couldn't tell if the man's eyes were blue, gray, or green. . .Green? Suddenly suspicious, Hermione looked up at the boy who had pressed himself into the angle between a bookcase and the outer wall of the library. Something about the look of horror on his face decided her. There was more to this than a casual relationship. Even thought the book indicated that the main branch of the Kurosaki clan had died out, Hisoka's reaction meant that he had to be more than just a member of some cadet line. That look meant that he _knew_.

"Hisoka," she asked quietly. "Who is this?"

His whispered reply was automatic, coming without conscious thought. "Kurosaki Nagare, the sixteenth and final head. . .My father." His terrified eyes met hers. "Hermione. . .Get Tsuzuki. I- I don't feel very well." Then he crumpled bonelessly to the floor.

                                                ******************

Hisoka was back on his feet – or rather, sitting in a chair as far away from that betraying photo as he could get without leaving the safety of the corner – by the time she arrived, breathless, with Professor Tsuzuki in tow. The older man tried to gather the blond into his arms and was rebuffed with a muttered "Leave me alone." Hermione's heart cringed at the expression of resignation and sorrow that crossed the taller man's features as he let his arms fall limply to his sides.

"Hisoka. . .Are you -"

"I'm fine. Leave me alone."

" 'Soka. . ." The worry in Tsuzuki's violet eyes, together with the way the youth's name came out in a pitiful whine, made Hermione take a step closer to them. They were both so miserable that she wanted to comfort one or the other. Hisoka pushed off from his chair, skirting around them and the table where the book still lay, face open.

"Just leave me alone." he growled. Shoulders hunched, he shoved his balled up fists into his trouser pockets and stalked away.

                                                ******************

"Well, that wasn't so difficult." muttered Kyo. The hastily scrawled directions on the scrap clutched in his sweaty hand had been accurate, and in their own way, they constituted an invitation, didn't they? So why was he swallowing down a fluttery feeling of apprehension? The plain door in front of him led to Taka's quarters; all he had to do was to knock, and walk in.

But it was damned hard to do.

The ringing sound of footsteps approaching around a bend in the corridor finally gave him the push that he needed, and Kyo rapped his knuckles against the age-darkened wood. When the door swung silently open at his touch, he darted in without thinking, and quickly pushed it shut behind him. And stared as he drew a panting breath. The small sitting room was an almost perfect replica of their apartment back home. Instead of the usual stone, the floor was of a dark hardwood, gleaming with polish. And there was the same long cream colored couch that had been witness to many a good time and a few bad ones, and the pair of comfortably deep chairs upholstered in soft beige. The main differenceshe could see were the fireplace with a broad mantle of some speckled pink and white stone, a plain wooden desk and chair ina corner underneath a window, and bookcases half filled with a jumble of titles from the library. But it was still empty of the one person that he wanted to see. There was no Takashi.

That quivering, nervous feeling intensified, turning to a flight of moths that beat against the lamp of his soul. What if he had misunderstood? It had been weeks. . .months. . .since he had been able to get more than the briefest contact with his love. What if. . .he swallowed hard. What if Takashi had lost interest in him?

He shouldn't have come.

A faint noise from somewhere beyond stopped Kyo before he could lose his nerve and bolt back out the door. He froze, listening intently. No, his ears weren't deceiving him; the low, needy moan was as familiar to him as his own breath. It uncurled a matching, tingling sensation within his own chest, tugging like a steel cord toward the half open portal across the sitting room. Kyo followed, automatically slipping out of his shoes, leaving them by the shoe rack near the door, and padded on silent feet on the cool wooden floor.

The room beyond was cast in shadow. All but one of the candles in the sconces mounted on the white plastered walls were unlit, and only the barest light from the waning day came through the heavy drapes that concealed the windows. But as the young man's eyes adjusted, he had no trouble making out the figure lying atop the covers in the canopied bed.

Takashi had removed his long black outer robe, but for the rest he was still clothed as if he expected to get up and head back down to teach another class. The fine wool of his dress slacks clung to the contours of his hips and thighs and his sweater was bunched up carelessly above his waist. He looked adorable, sleep robbing him of his usual solemn lines. Then he twisted again, murmuring indistinctly in what had to be Japanese, before settling back with one arm out flung on the bedding.

Kyo stared for a long moment, his mouth gone dry. It had been forever since he had had the luxury of watching his life mate sleep, and he had forgotten just how beautiful the man was. The thick, copper-touched hair that was always so neat during the day was mussed over his forehead, and a delicate flush brightened the pale tan of his skin. Kyo remembered teasing Takashi, once, about being a natural redhead, and how the former sensei had drawn himself up in mock indignation – before stripping and demonstrating that a very different head of hair was only a shade darker. The memory drew the boy closer, unconscious of his movements until the side of the bed bumped his knee. Kyo let out a breath that he hadn't been aware of holding.

The need to reach out, to draw his fingers through that auburn hair, to run his hands over the soft knit of Takashi's sweater, was making him crazy. Cautiously, Kyo seated himself on the edge of the bed, feeling the mattress dip beneath his weight. Even sound asleep, Takashi must have felt the movement, because he blinked. He opened those eyes, heavy lidded with a mixture of sleep and arousal. Lovely eyes, like green tea, both golden and peridot at once, shadowed with smoky topaz. Takashi unfurled his fingers, reaching up and tangling them into Kyo's silk-fine hair. Then, with the weight of weariness, of the sleep that drugged his unfocused eyes, he let his fingers slip down, just rubbing over the skin on the boy's throat, leaving behind a burning tingle. His eyes drifted shut again.

Kyo stayed frozen where he was. He didn't dare so much as inhale, afraid to disturb his partner and miss any of the nearly inaudible words that he was whispering. Kyo caught the sound of his own name, and every endearment that they had ever used for one another, before it all dissolved into a low moan. Takashi arched, back and hips rising, and he swore softly before gasping "Kyo. . .koibito. . Anata wa sei desu ka?" his voice gone husky. Kyo's eyes widened.

The blunt proposal hung in the air between them as the younger man realised just what Takashi was dreaming. 

Kyo breathed out in a whoosh. His lips felt dry and he licked at them self-consciously. Takashi was getting even more restless; his fingers kneading the bedclothes in agitation and more mumbled invitations tumbled out. _I guess I don't have to worry about whether he still wants me or not, _Kyo's thoughts were definitely tinged with a little hysterical happiness. He was still wrung out over the discussion he had had with Harry, never mind that he had been the picture of a concerned, calm and understanding friend. Caught at the heels of his and Takashi's private grieving for their friends, just reassuringHarry had taken a lot out of him.

But Kyo sure as hell wasn't going to deny that seeing his life partner lost in sleep and dreaming of him in _that _way refreshed him far more effectively than a bucket of ice cold water in the face.

He climbed onto the bed distractedly, eyes intent on tracking every twitch, every play of emotion that crossed his love's face. If Kyo doubted the intensity of Takashi's dream, the gaze that he raked hungrily over his husband's form dispelled any such notion. Takashi was sweating, the moisture lending his skin a light sheen that glowed in the dim light of that lone candle. His body was alternately coiling and relaxing, the muscles quivering as Takashi parted his legs, a ragged gasp falling from his lips. Takashi's arousal was delightfullyobvious and again, Kyo's tongue unconsciously flicked out, wetting his lips in anticipation.

A low moan pierced the air and Kyo was startled to note that it came from himself. He crawled up the bed, Takashi instinctively edging closer to him as he closed the distance between them. Carefully, as Takashi's eyes fluttered at the edge of awakening, Kyo straddled him, slowly lying himself down lengthwise on top of Takashi to cover his partner's body with his own. Kyo made sure that he was still supporting most of his own weight with his knees and elbows; even though Takashi was the taller of the two, they were roughly the same weight and he doubted Takashi would appreciate being suffocated. __

His own arousal rubbed softly against Takashi's and simultaneously, they both moaned. Kyo returned Takashi's earlier favour and tangled his fingers in Takashi's hair, tugging gently. He laid a gentle kiss just over Takashi's rapidly beating pulse and the taste of skin he had been dreaming of for months cracked his restraints. He bit, just hard enough to draw a startled, and definitely aware, gasp from his husband. Takashi's body instantly tensed beneath him and arms shot out and clamped over and around him, crushing the two of them together. Their arousals rubbed and Kyo whimpered, not even realising it as his fingers kneaded Takashi's scalp desperately and he peppered Takashi's neck with hot, moist, open kisses that scored the pale amber skin.

"Kyo. . ." 

Enma, how he missed hearing his name uttered in that long, drawn out groan that was as much pain as it was pleasure. His breathing sped up in eagerness; the years together had taught him what such a sound promised and sure enough, Takashi pulled him up roughly and their lips met in a bruising kiss that conveyed lust and love, and wassalted heavily with desperation. Takashi was gasping his name between kisses, as his partner gripped the back of his neck in an almost painful hold, forcing him still as they both groaned out their need, breath mingling.

In a move that made Kyo giddy with desire, Takashi hooked his leg around Kyo's, his thigh brushing against Kyo's erection and the young man squeaked, eliciting a chuckle from Takashi. The former sensei nudged him, manoeuvring until Kyo was lying half on top and covering his side. Their urgency had dwindled to a slow exploration by then, Takashi taking the lead and Kyo content to let him. As Kyo breathed softly, warm air ghosting across flushed skin, Takashi's hand slid under his t-shirt and traced circles on his back. Kyo shivered, burying his face in his partner's neck. 

"I love you," Takashi said, his voice hoarse with desire. "I love you so much, do you know that?"

Kyo nodded silently, not trusting his voice to answer but he followed obediently when he was tugged into a sitting position. Takashi took his hands and placed them on the bottom edge of his sweater, a silent question in his eyes. Almost reverently, Kyo helped Takashi out of the sweater, tossing it aside and the shirt underneath as well, followed quickly by the slacks and briefs. When Takashi was sitting before him completely naked, Kyo stopped, on his knees with his legs straddling Takashi's.

"Kyo?"

His eyes refused to meet Takashi's. Instead, he fiddled with the hem of his t-shirt, his nervousness clear. Takashi's fingers closed over his own and he noted absently that death had ensured that his skin would forever stay a pale, milky white and Takashi, a light amber.

"I didn't want to come," he said abruptly, finally meeting Takashi's steady gaze. He was still in that position, not wanting to set himself down, yet not wanting to move away either. "I didn't want to come here earlier. I almost went back even."

"Why?" Takashi asked quietly, not letting go of Kyo's hand which twitched in his grip.

"I was. . .afraid," Kyo confessed.

"Of?"

"You," Kyo whispered. "That you didn't want me anymore. It's been so long and. . ." Hefell silent.

Takashi was quiet as well, letting go of Kyo's hand only to gently draw the t-shirt up, Kyo allowing himself to be divested of it without fuss. There was a faint smile on Takashi's face when he was pulled closer. The move forced him to sit down lest he fall and he settled himself in Takashi's lap, his jeans the only armor shielding him.

"You do realize," Takashi said lightly, "that you're being an utter idiot?"

Kyo flushed and the embarrassment made him poke Takashi's chest. Hard. "You have absolutely no sympathy for my insecurities," he pouted.

Takashi raised an eyebrow. "Not when they'rebaseless. You _do _appreciate the current condition I'm in, don't you?" he said with a significant look down.

Kyo's eyes followed his gaze and the sight of Takashi's evident arousal, nestled in a thatch of dark auburn curls made his stomach muscles tighten, his breath hitching in his throat. "You were dreaming earlier," he murmured, eyes not moving and he was rewarded with a twitch that made interesting things happen to his own body.

"I was," Takashi stopped, coughed, and continued. "I was. And it was a damn fine dream as well."

"Oh?' Kyo murmured still. "Would you prefer to continue dreaming or something. . .real?"

Takashi laughed and he hooked a finger in the waistband of Kyo's jeans. "I wouldn't mind something more. . .solid," he answered with a cheeky grin. "But you seem to be overdressed for it, love."

It was like his earlier hesitation had never happened. Kyo hopped off the bed, ripping off his jeans and briefs impatiently, kicking them aside. Takashi was watching Kyo with that infuriating grin still on his face as he scooted further up the bed, leaning against the headboard. One leg drawn up invitingly, Takashi cocked an eyebrow. "Well?" he said challengingly.

Kyo felt an answering grin curve his lips as he crawled back into the bed. The feel of bare skin sliding against bare skin was electric; little tingles and sparks in his blood that sensitised every nerve endings and shot down his spine. It was almost reverent, the way he settled himself oh so slowly in Takashi's lap and the instant their erections touched, Takashi gasped, his hands clutching Kyo's upper arms for support. Very carefully, Kyo rubbed again and was rewarded with a long, drawn out moan that ended with a "You damn _tease!_"

Kyo chuckled, kissing Takashi chastely on the lips. "Did you like that?" he asked innocently. Takashi growled under his breath. The chuckles died as Kyo locked gazes with Takashi, his partner likewise falling silent. A feeling that defied words passed between them, Takashi rubbing his hands up and down Kyo's arms as Kyo locked his own hands around Takashi's neck.

"I love you," Kyo said softly and his mouth met Takashi's in anopen, wet kiss. The two months seemed as though it never happened as they each proved that time and distance had not eroded their memories, as they kissed and touched and sighed against each other. They were lovers in every sense of the word and they did not let the years dim the fire.

When Kyo drew himself up, Takashi looked surprised, only for his expression to change into one of pure lust when Kyo pressed the tube of lubricant in his hands. He coated his fingers thoroughly and with Kyo kneeling, he prepared his partner. Takashi almost lost control when Kyo's hips bucked suddenly, his muscles tightening around Takashi's fingers. Kyo whimpered, muttering half-phrases like, "So good. . .imagined. . .Taka. . ."

With his other hand, Takashi prepared himself, viciously choking back the need to drive himself into his partner right there and then. By this time, Kyo was panting against his shoulder, little jerks and thrusts pushing against his fingers and when he withdrew them, Kyo whimpered again. The younger man followed Takashi's hands on his hips that urged him down blindly and the feel of something far more hotter, far more firmer at his entrance drove away the last of his coherency. Kyo pushed himself down, taking in Takashi completely and he threw his head back, screaming at the sudden pain. But when Takashi fisted his erection, Kyo was in motion, building up the urgency and Takashi followed his pace, his ragged gasps loud in Kyo's ears as he kissed Kyo's lips, his cheeks, biting into the soft flesh of Kyo's neck. 

Kyo's thrusts were getting shallower, more rapid and he was leaving red marks all over Takashi's biceps and shoulders, clawing frantically. Takashi found Kyo's fast beating pulse and bit down, hard, when he felt Kyo tensing under him and screaming out again in his release. Kyo fell limp in his arms and Takashi moved quickly, lying Kyo down as his partner dazedly and accommodatingly lifted his legs, locking them around Takashi's hips. Takashi grunted with pleasure, mimicking Kyo's fast thrusts and within seconds, he was yelling Kyo's name, as he spilled his seed in Kyo.

For long moments, there was only the sound of their breathing, slowing down to a languid rhythm. Takashi felt far too heavy to move but Kyo managed to prod him into a more comfortable position, namely with Kyo tucked in Takashi's arms, and Takashi lazily summoning a towel from the bathroom. Cleaned, sated and feeling utterly debauched in the best way possible, Takashi nuzzled Kyo's neck contentedly, mildly disappointed that the marks he left were already fading. Kyo stirred in his arms, humming his approval when Takashi sought to remedy that with tongue and teeth. 

"Can I just say something here?" Kyo asked, his voice heavy with sleep.

"Mm?" Takashi continued nuzzling.

Kyo sighed happily. "Damn, that was good."

And for the first time in months, Takashi laughed a real laugh. 

*****To be continued*****

**A/N: **Well. The long-awaited lemon. Happy now, all you lemon-lovers? I wasn't looking forward to writing it, truth to tell. I'd been feeling very uninspired in the lemon business but, Lisa, saviour that she is, helped me out by giving the trigger for the scene. 

**TO ALL TSUZUKI-HISOKA LOVERS:**

I've said this a few times before but I'll say it again: this story is _Kyo & Takashi-centric. _I am a Kyo-Takashi Lover and as such, that's where the focus of the story lies. But I'm sure you're aware that we've been giving more of the spotlight to our old Shinigami. In fact, you can expect a lemon from Tsuzuki & 'Soka-chan as well (Do I hear screaming?), plus some emotional/physical trauma. Yes, we're evil. But with purpose. Remember that. **Purpose is important.** Why on earth would I want to do a 300-odd pages long PWP anyway?.


	26. Chapter 26:The calm before the storm

**Title: **When Death Comes a'Knocking: Book 1 – Of Revelations

**Plot Mistresses: **Shiozaki, Shaynie, Librarycat, Literary Eagle

**Spell Researchers: **Fellow wizards, witches & omnyouji at my Yahoo!Group

**Scene Masters: **Shiozaki and Librarycat

**Beta-d by: **Librarycat

**Warning: R – IF YOU DON'T READ THE FOLLOWING THEN DO NOT COME COMPLAINING/WHINING AT ME LATER:**

This chapter contains some R material. Please exercise due judgment in reading it. Again, we'd like to state here that we DO NOT believe in useless, pointless sex or acts of sexuality and/or violence just for the shock factor. Every nuance was taken into careful consideration to its effect on the overall plot.

We ourselves were a bit disturbed at some of the more graphic sexual/violent acts that have or will be portrayed in this story but we have unanimously decided that it's integral to the plot.

Please, do not merely **READ**, but **THINK** as to why we wrote so-and-so in such a way. **THIS IS NOT A PWP** (Plot? What Plot?) **FIC**. If you do not think and act wisely, merely taking this story at face value, **WE WILL NOT HESITATE IN REMOVING THIS STORY IN ITS ENTIRETY FROM FANFICTION.NET.**

**TO ALL BELOW 18 YEARS OF AGE READERS:**

****

Since writing fanfics, I was quite surprised at the number of young readers I've drawn in. I do believe in freedom to choose and I hope you exercise that right judiciously. Even if by standards you are not considered mature, I sincerely believe that you _can _act and think wisely. As I've said above, please do not take the sexual/violent acts in this story at face value. Try to understand why we did so; there is a reason, and a valid one it is, for why that certain scene is in there.

If I get **reviews demanding for more lemons, more torture** just for the sake of it, **I WILL REMOVE THE STORY TO AN AGE-RESTRICTED SITE WHICH CAN ONLY BE ACCESSED BY THOSE WHO CAN PROVE THEIR AGE (AND MATURITY).**

**Other Warnings:**

****

This chapter contains spoiler about the Kurosaki family; the current arc in Yami no Matsuei.

This chapter is bloody long too. 25 pages.

I've said it once, twice and more times than I cared for; this story is OC-CENTRIC. Not willing to give it a chance? Then don't.

**Review Replies:**

I'd just like to give a big shout-out to all who reviewed; good or bad or in-between. I'm sorry that I have been quiet at the mailing list recently but I'm in a bit of trouble with my dad about the internet bill *grin*. My hours online have been drastically cut down but the plus side is that my writing has gotten better. On that note; please be aware that you'll hear from me at the list either tomorrow (Wednesday, my time) or the day after. There's an important topic I need to discuss with all of you. Thanks again!

**                                                                     Chapter 26**

**                                                       The calm before the storm**

Humming a tune he heard on the wizarding wireless once, Harry made his way to the library with a bounce in his steps and alightness in his heart that felt all too strange for its rarity. He and Kyo had parted ways earlier; the Japanese making his way down the hallway that led to the professors' apartments. Meanwhile, the young wizard knew that he could find his two best friends at the library, him and Ron having promised Hermione that they'd meet her there after lunch to get a start on the paper that Takashi had assigned their class.

Harry slipped quietly inside, the door falling shut with a muffled _click. _Nevertheless, Madam Pince glared beadily, the boy giving her a sickly sort of smile as he apologetically made his way to the table already piled high with books, and scattered all over with parchments. Hermione, to Harry's surprise, was not writing feverishly as was her wont when confronted with an assignment, or even reading with an appetite that could rival a blast-ended skrewt for sheer voracity. She was instead lost in a rather old volume, the leather binding worn and cracked in places, and nibbling a lock of her hair thoughtfully. Ron kept his head down as he drew stick figures on broomsticks, offering Hermione as small a target as possible if she caught him slacking off.

With a smile, Harry joined them, Ron shooting him a quick grin while the bushy haired girl muttered some sort of greeting. Long used to his friends' study habits (or lack thereof when it came to a redhead named Ron), Harry got out his own supplies of ink, quill and parchment, setting themout neatly on his side of the table, and promptly disappeared into the stacks to find the books he needed.

_Takashi sure gave us an interesting topic to write about, _Harry thought vaguely as he wandered up and down the aisle that housed books on Easterntraditions and wizardry. _Omnyoujitsu, _

Harry grinned to himself. It still rankled Kyo to noend whenever someone made the mistake of referring to him or the other Japanese as 'wizards'. Something to do with a really annoying one they hadmet before Hogwarts, as well as the fact that the 'W' word was as misleading as the other colourful misnomers that the so-called Westernersaffixed to the discipline of spiritualism.

A title caught his eye halfway down; _The Long Journey Home. _Taking that, as well as several other slim volumes that likewise sparked his interest, Harry went back to their study table, again humming a little tune.

"Hey, Harry," Ron stage whispered.

Harry, having decided that _The Long Journey Home _was the more interesting to start off his research, looked up, a smile on his face. "Yeah?"

"Are you okay? You're acting funny."

Harry blinked, taken aback and discomfited to notice that Hermione had abandoned her reading to scrutinise him carefully as well. "What?"

"Yes," Hermione said thoughtfully. "I see what you mean Ron."

"What?" Harry asked, exasperated.

"You look. . ." Ron trailed off, a finger tapping his chin. "Happy."

"At ease," Hermione supplied judiciously.

"Content."

"Joyous."

"Positively jo—ow!" Ron rubbed his forehead, pouting. Harry calmly took back the quill that had servedas a missile and, with careful dignity, started reading.

"That's what you get for being a prat," he sniffed haughtily and over the top of his book, he caught the exchange of grins between his best friends. Harry swallowed his own smile. He really had the most wonderful friends anyone could ask for.

The minutes ticked by, marked by the rustling of pages, the scratch of quill on parchment. Ron had finally decided that the essay should be given some attention and promptly stole the books Harry had set aside. The essay they were assigned wasn't exactly difficult. Rather, it was. . .interesting. __

_Samhain__ and Obon: The Festivals of the Dead – Discuss the similarities and differences with references to local cultures._

Wetting the nib of his favourite quill, Harry (despite Hermione's years of lecturing, he only made the bare outlines when doing an essay. He found free-writing to be quite exhilarating), with occasional reference to the book he had open, started his paper.

_The Japanese Obon or Festival of the Dead marks the culture's respect to its deceased. Based on the teachings of the Sakyamuni Buddha from the Urabon Sutra, it reflects the Japanese-_

"This book is so. . .annoying!" 

Harry flinched, sighing in resignation atthe resultant ink splatters. He dug out his wand and erased the wet blotches. That done, he pushed his essay to the side (just in case), folded his hands on top of the table and fixed Hermione with his best 'what is it _now?_' stare.

The young witch huffed impatiently, obviously resisting the temptation to send the fat volume she held flying. Ron ducked reflexively, just in case she changed her mind, but Harry kept his patient expression steady.

"Why do you say that?" he asked. With Hermione still huffing and puffing, he pulled the volume closer and turned it around so that he could look at it right side up. "Whoa! This guy looks just like Hisoka!"

"Really?" Distracted, she craned her neck and took another look. "I guess," Hermione said doubtfully. "But if I hadn't read it, I wouldn't have made the connection."

"What's it say?" Ron demanded impatiently. He had no interest in reading something that the girl had already ploughed through and could probably summarize in one or two well-chosen sentences. Harry was ignoring him, completely absorbed in the account on the open page, so he looked expectantly at her.

"All it says is that the Kurosaki family was cursed by some snake god, Yatonogami, I think. The main Kurosaki line ending should have brought disaster on the local villagers, but somehow, shortly before the death of the sixteenth and finalhead of the family, the curse was broken." She nudged Harry, dragging his attention from the book. "The thing is, if the family died out, why did Hisoka say that that guy is his father?"

"He did?" Harry asked, surprised. From what he knew of Hisoka, the young blond disliked talking about himself or his family. If he had any. Which, judging by what Harry had just read, he did. And a very respectable family it was. If Harry understood it right, the Kurosaki family was almost as old as the Malfoys. 

Hermione nodded, biting her lower lip and looking surprisingly guilty. "I met him here after the game. When he saw the picture. . . .he freaked out."

Harry raised an eyebrow. Somehow, the phrase 'freaked out' and Hisoka just didn't gel together. "Freaked out?" he repeated dubiously.

"Freaked out," Hermione nodded. She frowned pensively, shooting a glance at Harry. "It was just so. . .odd. He was angry. . .and frightened. All at the same time. As if his father were the last person he wanted to run into. Then he sent me to fetch Professor Tsuzuki, just before he fainted."

"Uh. . ." Ron flushed a brilliant scarlet. "Maybe his parents weren't married, and he couldn't inherit? That could explain why he. . .fr-"

"_Ron!_" The darker boy glared at him, snapping "I got it, already. Leave it be." His earlier cheer was turning into familiar, gut-churning worry. It wasn't so much that Hisoka had passed out; Harry had figured out that empathy and emotional shocks didn't mix at all well, but rather that Hisoka's own father could have such an effect on him.

Hermione shot the red-head an irritated look as well. Honestly, dear though Ron was, he could just be so dense at times. "If his parents weren't married, then how can Hisoka be using the Kurosaki name? I assume he would have had to have been acknowledged by his father to do that. And if he was, then he would have been the heir, and the family line wouldn't have ended."

Harry shoved the book back toward her with a frustrated sigh. "It doesn't say anything about how the curse was broken, or even when."

"I know. But _Famous Curses Around the World_ is the only book it's listed in. I would never have expected to say this, but this library is really pathetic when it comes to other parts of the globe."

When both Ron _and _Harry made to check outside the window to see if the sky was falling down, hearing Hermione criticise her beloved library, she threatened them with a volume of _Dead Rituals and Deader People _and the two boys went back to their work with identical looks of contrition. 

Not that the brilliant witch was fooled of course. 

She kept the fat tome close. Just in case.

                                                                     ***************

"Headmaster."

"Ah, Severus," Dumbledore smiled beatifically, gesturing for the Potions Master to make himself comfortable in one of a pair ofblue and silver embroidered armchairs, the other occupied by the sickeningly familiar form of the werewolf. Their earlier meeting had been postponed.Snape's sole contact within the Death Eaters hadsent a package that required a careful dismantling of the various distraction charms, notice-me-nots of a variety that they just don't teach in schools nowadays, and deadly traps for those who lack the proper key. It took Snape a good two hours to get through the layers of hexes and protections and he wondered at his old friend's almost unseemly, near-paranoid precautions. Not surprising considering the situation that they wereboth in but still, it was far more than usual.

Snape declined the Headmaster's standard offer of tea with a sharp shake of his head. The box he held between his white-knuckled grip threatened to break under the pressure and he quickly and unceremoniously pushed aside some of the organised clutter on Dumbledore's desk. The dark haired man set down the burden he carried as gently as if it were a baby, or wasas deadly as a live curse. Both Dumbledore and Lupin leaned forwards in their seats, interest and caution evident in their faces.

"Severus?" Lupin waved a hand at the box, making no move to touch it. He knew better than to do so without permission from the tightly wound professor. "What did he send you?"

He, meaning Silas. Snape's already thin lips thinned further at the subtle reminder of the only person left alive he dared call friend. Whatever it was Silas had sent him, his friend had done so at great personal risk. Silas, great fool that he was, had actually gone through the Dark Lord' private study (wherever that was, as Silas was still unsuccessful in circumventing the dark charm that kept the Death Eaters' current headquarters a secret.).

"He wrote, saying that the Dark Lord's investigations into the Japanese's background has borne fruit," Snape said abruptly. He had yet to sit down. His hands, though no longer mangling the box, wereresting on either side of the plain, brown package, innocuous in appearance.

Dumbledore winced softly. The Order's own research had yielded precious little. Whatever this Japanese Omnyouji Coalition was, they were as secretive, if not even more so,than the Death Eaters themselves. Getting what little information they did (which was nothing more than a confirmation of the four Japanese's identities) hadused up almost all of their resources. Practitioners of magic in Japan were a solitary lot. That, or clannish to the point of murderous suspicions when a stranger startedasking too many questions.

"More than ours?' Dumbledore asked mildly. His gnarled fingers grasped the fine china of his tea cup. Even if Snape refused his hospitality, the canny old wizard was not going to let all that good tea go to waste. He had a feeling that he needed the bracing.

Snape nodded once; a sharp gesture. "My former comrades," his lips curled in distaste, "Had no hesitation in using other means in procuring their information—"

"Nor did we," Lupin interrupted. "Even contacting their underground network yielded almost nothing. What did they offer that could entice any of the dark omnyouji?"

Snape shot Lupin an almost hateful look. If there was one thing the man could notstand, it was getting interrupted mid-sentence. "It's not so much as what they were offering, but what they were asking instead."

Dumbledore raised one eyebrow, mouth forming a small 'o' of apprehension. "That does not sound good," he murmured to his tea.

"It does not," Snape agreed, and to the other two's surprise, he sat down unexpectedly, not quite pushing himself away from the as yet undisclosed package on the Headmaster's desk. "The Dark Lord, as Potter had seen the other night, knows that our guests are powerful. And that they can either be formidable allies or foes. When they found that it was useless to get information on the four we're hosting here, they tried another front." Snape paused and Lupin barely held himself back from accusing the other man of unnecessary dramatics. "They asked whether there had been any omnyouji who had succeeded where the Dark Lord failed."

"What? Killing Harry?" Lupin asked in bewilderment. But it appeared as if the old Headmaster knew what bush Snape was beating about. His heavy white eyebrows drew together in an ominous frown and his mouth disappeared in his beard.

"Oh dear," said the defeater of Grindelwald.

"Achieving immortality, you blithering idiot," the snarky Potions Master snarled at the hapless werewolf.

"Oh dear," Lupin echoed faintly. Unnoticed, his fingers dug into the wooden arm support of his chair, his unnatural strength nearly cracking the grain. "They—there weren't any, right?" he asked hopefully and immediately slumped in weariness at the look in those dark eyes.

"This particular omnyouji," Snape started hesitantly, his own fingers, stained from years of working with potions and herbs, drumming a restless tune on his thigh. "_Almost _achieved eternal life. By all accounts, and he's something of a legend among the dark practitioners. Apparently, he was _already _immortal. Or at least, able to withstand what a mere wizard can't," he finished on a rather dry note.

Catching the enquiring looks on both faces, Snape sighed, giving in to the lesser mortal's need for a good story. "Stabbings, gunshot wounds, exploding buildings and some claimed, mauling by a dragon."

There was some rapid blinking on Lupin's part while Dumbledore stole the opportunity to fortify himself with more tea.

"This man did die in the end, but they said it was due to misfortune, rather than his own magic failing," Snape continued and if possible, his face fell in grimmer lines, highlighting his sallow skin. "He was kidnapped, tortured and subsequently, driven insane by an enemy. He died mad, though still appearing in the bloom of his. . .beauty."

Lupin's mouth broke into a tight smile. "That's good. Not that I would wish such a fate on anybody," he assured hastily amidst Snape's sneer and Dumbledore's soft huff of laughter. "But at least, that means the Death Eaters didn't get their hands on whatever method this dark omnyouji was using to sustain his life. . . .or not," he finished bleakly. The former Death Eater turned spy was giving him that special glare that meant 'would I be wasting my breath with foolish storytelling if there wasn't a _point?_'

"With a sizeable amount of gold, the Dark Lord's forces havemanaged to get several of the man's journals. Journals which detailed his spellworkings. Coded," Snape informed them sourly, "But nevertheless, it's all there."

Dumbledore released a long breath, the air whistling through his beard in a soft hiss. The tea cup he cradled was set back down gently and the old man carefully folded his hands across his chest, peering at the package upon his desk over gold half-moon glasses. "Dare I guess. . .?"

Snape nodded tersely. "He managed to copy one of the journals. There's three of them, all heavily warded. Even this one," he nodded at the brown box, "is incomplete. He was interrupted midway."

"But not compromised?"

"No," Snape answered firmly. "I would know. Imperious or no, I would _know_."

The three fell quiet then, each contemplating the brown box that appeared innocent in its simplicity. The implications of what was just revealed was too enormous, too weighty to be taken in all at once. Someone had succeeded where the Dark Lord had failed. Even if death had still claimed the man, he had proven that there was a way. Only the strongest and the most brilliant could achieve this and they wondered, eyeing the unopened package, what else had this dark omnyouji had learned.

Dumbledore sighed heavily, passing a hand across his face. "Voldemort's interest in our guests is partly our fault," he admitted. "They had revealed what they were capable of in the course of protecting our students and this school." He caught the look on Snape's face and said sternly, "You can't deny this, Severus. If not for their intervention, we might have lost students and a professor to the manticore attack. We might have lost Harry. Again, I have failed to deliver what I promised," he finished softly.

Both Lupin and Snape shifted uncomfortably in their seats. They were, perhaps, the two people who were in the esteemed wizard's presence most often and they had seen him in various moods and states; though it usually differed from infuriating calmness to infuriating senility. But when the odd guilt and self-reproof set in, neither knew how to handle it. Doubts and culpability was just _not Dumbledore. _

"But what's done is done," the Headmaster said severely, clapping his hands together. Even his beard looked stern. "Severus, have you looked through the journal?"

The Potions Master shook his head in the negative. "Silas has already warned me that it's in Japanese. I thought. . ." he hesitated, eyeing the Headmaster carefully, "Since it appears as if you've reached an. . .accord with the Japanese, we couldask for their help in translating it. They are also the best candidates to help break the man's code."

Dumbledore nodded in agreement and Lupin murmured in concurrence. "I shall have Tsuzuki and Matsumada take a look at it. After I've briefed you two on the conversation I've had with Tsuzuki, that is. Oh, and Severus?"

Snape looked up, having finally accepted the Headmaster repeated offers of tea and was making sure that his usual dose of sugar wasn't exceeded (that is to say, none, but Dumbledore was nothing if not persistent). "Sir?"

"Did Silas tell you this dark omnyouji's name? Perhaps Tsuzuki or Matsumada may know of him, if he has such notoriety as you've claimed," Dumbledore said calmly even as he flicked his wand and a lump of sugar plopped into Snape's cup.

With a wordless snarl, a wave of his own wand dissolving the sugar into nothing, Snape growled, "Muraki." His lips curled again in uttering the foreign name. "Kazutaka Muraki."

                                                                     ***************

"Harry, can you please pass me the eggs?"

"Of course, Hermione."

The clink of knife against plate, goblets chiming sweetly when a first year got overenthusiastic in replenishing the pumpkin juice; all this was the usual cacophony that was the backdrop to what was a normal breakfast on a Monday. 

_Although, _Harry added silently to himself, _'normal' might just be wishful thinking. _

Harry was sitting at his usual spot at the Gryffindor table, flanked by Ron and Hermione. The three of them were valiantly trying to maintain the façade of good cheer and enthusiasm, assuring everyone that cared that no, everything's fine, really and whatever gave you the idea that anything was _wrong? _

Though, their little routine tended to fall flat whenever someone merely glanced over at the two sitting across from the Gryffindor trio.

The air between Kyo and Hisoka crackled with icy tension.

Hisoka was ignoring the plate before him that Hermione had piled high with eggs and kippers, reading a book instead and occasionally taking a sip of coffee. Kyo, by his side, was attacking his breakfast with a semblance of his usual energy but one couldn't help but notice the little looks he sent Hisoka's way, loaded with emotion that none of the wizards or thewitch dared to interpret. At one point, Kyo, visibly squaring his shoulders like a young soldier getting ready for battle, spoke up softly, "Hisoka, I—" 

Hisoka stopped him with a "Not now," which was perfectly flat and toneless, not even looking up from his book. Kyo barely bit back a wince, unhappiness clear on his face before it settled back into a blank mask. He didn't try to talk to Hisoka again after that and not one of the trio dared to draw the young blond into conversation. If he was _that _cold to his own close friend how, in Merlin's name, would he treat them? Harry could feel the tension vibrating from the young witch by his side. Hermione thought that the apparent strain between the two Japanese was brought on by her book, not to mention that she was dying to find out more about the Kurosaki. Hisoka's violent and negative reaction was one of the few things that stopped her from asking the blond.

Harry tried to draw Kyo into a discussion about Gryffindor's chances of winning the Quidditch Cup. The wizard hated the defeated light in his friend's eyes, after last night when Kyo had entered the common room with a genuine smile that had been missing for some time now.

Kyo's responses were forced; anyone with half an ear could tell but the blue eyed boy was trying his best. He almost looked as if he were about to cry when Hisoka stuffed the book into his bag and got to his feet. The cool indifference of the empath's pale and perfectly calm features was contrary to the way his hands shook as he settled the bag's strap on his shoulder, and then he was gone, slipping effortlessly through the chaos.

Kyo sat still, frozen in shock. Harry reached across the table and took the fork from his unresisting grasp. "Go after him, you prat. We'll be along in a minute." With visible effort, the Japanese boy shook himself back into awareness.

"But- " 

"But, nothing. You're too good friends to let whatever this is continue to build up. I know there's more to this than his father, or even your sword fight. It started at Samhain, right? So, go on." Harry said firmly. He studiously ignored the way Hermoine's eyebrows twitched up, and Ron's mouth dropped open. The only thing that mattered was the way that the light returned to Kyo's transparent blue eyes, and the way his mouth suddenly quirked up into a genuine smile. Whatever was bothering the foreign boys might not be any of the English wizard's business, but he still wanted Kyo to be happy. And just at the moment, that meant keeping his nose out of their way, and letting them work it out themselves.

"Thanks, Harry. You're a peach!" Kyo was untangling his long legs from the bench and running before the other boy had a chance to do more than snort and roll his eyes.

                                                     **************

Catching up to Hisoka was harder than it sounded. Every kid in the school seemed determined to be heading crossways on Kyo's path, or inclined to stop and chat in a big gaggle that blocked the hallway. He finally cleared the last group, only to find that the slow, majestic rotation of the staircases had left him without a way up to the large room in the south wing that had become home to the Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Kyo felt an overwhelming temptation to say _discretion be damned_ and just fly up to the desired level, but Takashi would have his head for it. He fidgeted, considering if any other route would do the trick, before conceding with a wry grimace that circumnavigating the whole hall would get him to the second floor just about when the stairs would be finishing their swing back into position.

But that didn't mean that he wasn't first in line to sprint up the steps two at a time when he finally did get the chance.

Harry, damn his perceptiveness, had hit the nail on the head when he had commented that this had been a long time coming. Aside from the whole issue of the Boy-Who-Lived's fate, there was the fact that Kyo had a guilty suspicion that he owed Hisoka an apology for pushing him into duelling with shisei. Fighting with live steel was not a good idea when one of the people involved was going nutters. Kyo knew that it bothered the smaller boy a lot that he had been forced to wound him. And then there was the whole mess with Akuma. Kyo was relieved that Hisoka had been unconscious for the demon's torment, and had a sneaking suspicion that Enma-sama had had a hand in that, but his friend had still been caught in the projected nightmares, and had recklessly spent his strength to protect Harry. And that should have been Kyo's task.

The broad corridor leading to the classroom was nearly empty; only a few other early birds were in evidence. Kyo barely noticed the sleek, corn silk fair hair of that Slytherin boy, Malfoy, orthe dark curls of the Ravenclaw, Amanda Fitzhugh, distinctive over the anonymous black robes that all the students wore. Instead, his eyes sought out the familiar burnished gold belonging to his friend.

Hisoka was standing beside his usual desk, laying out quill and parchment with the same deliberate movements that he tended to use for everything, from handling a sword to selecting a book in the library. Looking at the smooth lines of his bowed shoulders, you would never guess that there was anything the matter, but even Kyo, with his limited empathy, could feel the _wrongness._

"Hisoka, I- " Kyo began. 

"Drop it. We have nothing to discuss." The monotonous reply was just loud enough to attract the attention of the scattered students in the room; identical puzzled frowns settling on Malfoy and Amanda, among others. Obviously, the rumors about their duel were far from dead. Kyo hesitated, torn between reassuring the younger wizards, and shaking Hisoka until his teeth rattled. 

The blond had been small for his age at his death. But something about his slender and well-proportioned figure, or maybe it was his rigidly erect carriage as he turned his back on the group of them, made him seem taller than he was. It would have stopped Kyo from laying a hand on him, even if he had been willing to risk hurting him by provoking his empathy. Frustration roiled in Kyo's stomach, turning his breakfast to concrete and making his hands clench in the folds of his robes.

The cheerful gabble of approaching voices cut short their exchange; Tsuzuki and Takashi had arrived. Kyo's eyes shot instinctively to his husband's, wordlessly communicating his joy at seeing his love, and his concern over their friend. Message received, Takashi nodded, jerking his head imperceptibly toward the taller man beside him. Tsuzuki looked haggard with sleeplessness and worry. Kyo pursed his lips thoughtfully. So, the empath's refusal to discuss what was on his mind extended to his partner, as well. They would just have to see about that, wouldn't they? A fleeting smile sped across Takashi's face as he nodded again.

The room began to fill up as the other students of the combined Defense and Care of Magical Creatures session trickled in. Professor Lupin arrived, smiling broadly as he drew the two Japanese professors aside into an impromptu huddle. Something that he said caused Tsuzuki to finally laugh out loud, exclaiming "Maa! That Hagrid is such a coward! It's only a _little_ demon.. . ." as Takashi cuffed him affectionately on the back of his head. Lupin shook his head, an easy grin lending a sparkle to his tawny eyes. Kyo felt his heart melt at the sight of the three men, English and Japanese, united in their passion for the class's subject matter. Out of the corner of his eye, Kyo caught Hisoka staring with wrenching intensity, and the pleasure he felt tumbled into ash. _Oh, we are **definitely ** going to do something about you, my reluctant friend. . ._

The second bell had rung before the feverish level of fidgeting died down. Most of the students were eager to see what was coming, rumors having spread about Tsuzuki's plans since he had mentioned Monday's class at Gryffindor's Quidditch practice. Some of them were of course completely ridiculous; like the ones suggesting that they were going to see the Japanese summon a Prince of the Makkai, or that the students would each have to individually banish a Minor Imp. . .But still, the British students didn't know the senior Shinigami's track record. Taken in that light, some of the rumors weren't as so far-fetched after all. Kyo grimaced and resisted the urge to take a seat as far from the epicentre as he could get.

Lupin was on his knees, chalking a ring of runes outside the intricate pattern of Sanskrit that Takashi had drawn. The two professors worked comfortably side by side, exchanging an occasional comment. Kyo felt a brief pang of jealousy, one that he _knew_ was unfair, but still. . .During their long separation, Taka had obviously found a way to occupy himself, if his easy camaraderie with the werewolf was any indication. Tsuzuki joined them, taking a long-legged stride over the pattern on the floor before dropping down to squat on his heels.

"Ne, Lupin-san, what kind of symbols are these?" he asked curiously. He traced a finger above the chalk, a faint rosy glow trailing behind its tip. The Englishman glanced up.

"Ogham, which is the Celtic system. I'm not as fond of the Norse runes for this sort of thing." 

"Ah. There's power in them already. It will make a strong containment ward." Tsuzuki rose, dusting his hands on his slacks. 

Takashi shot the two professors a sharp look, murmuring "Don't frighten the students, you baka." as something approaching normal good humor lit the taller man's violet eyes. It hadn't escaped any of their notices that the assembled class was following the exchange with nervous intensity. He skirted the inscribed circles, heading for the black board at the head of the room.

Kyo stole the opportunity to glance around. Harry was, as per normal, seated right beside him, with Hermione on his far side, and Ron occupying the desk beyond. By the look of it, the girl was concentrating so hard on copying down every symbol drawn on the floor that her hair practically bristled. The redheaded Gryffindor, in contrast, was still doodling Snitches in the margins of his parchment The Japanese boy stifled a grin; it would serve Mr. Weasley right if Hermione refused to share her notes. Harry, on the other hand, was trying to be discreet as he peered behind Kyo's back to where Hisoka sat, stiff and unresponsive. All in all, a typical start to another typical day of school.

Tsuzuki's apologetic cough brought him out of his reverie as he called the class to order, saying "Welcome to the combined Defense and Care of Magical Creatures session. I know we have a larger than usual group because of it, so please, be considerate of your neighbors. I would ask that you _all_ put your wands away, so that we will have no unexpected spells cast if you should become startled." Grinning, he waited patiently for the resultant rustling to die back down. Several students grumbled over the order, but no one actually disobeyed. He continued, his tone becoming more serious. "Good. Now then, as you have all undoubtedly heard, today's class will involve the conjuration and banishment of a _very_ minor demon; a lesser oni."

Takashi joined him as Lupin sidled over to a vacant seat in the corner. The former sensei took over the lecture. "Yes, a demon. However, I have to caution you that the Japanese concept of a demon isn't quite the same as the European. Many of the things we lump together under the term are, in point of fact, nature spirits, and not really evil at all. That said, the variety of oni that we will be studying today are denizens of the lowest plane of existence, Hell, and can be readily identified by their red or green bodies and horns." A smile twitched his lips as he spotted Hermione's hand involuntarily creeping into the air. "Miss Granger?" the professor said politely.

"Er. . .if demon's aren't all evil, then how would you exorcise them?" she asked. An anxious murmur ran through the circle of students and Takashi sighed. 

"We're getting ahead of ourselves here, but I can see that you're worried. The answer is by means of the practitioner's spiritual energy, in much the same way as a Western priest would. When we were researching for this class, it became apparent that this is one area that your traditions – for example a Catholic exorcism – also require the invocation of a deity, just as onmyoujitsu does. This similarity- " The professor stopped dead, the rest of the explanation forgotten as he snapped to attention, turning in place as his senses quested out after the source of a stabbing uneasiness.

Without thinking, Kyo found himself on his feet, ofuda appearing between his fingers from the holster hidden on his leg, just as they did in Tsuzuki's hands. The very stones of the castle's foundations were singing a deep, bass note of warning that vibrated up through his bones. _Danger.__ . .Attack . ._ But they failed to pin-point a source, and that made him very uneasy. He spared a glance for Hisoka, and was relieved to see the boy's poker face transform into a kind of hunting-dog watchfulness; obviously, he had felt it, too. 

Lupin lunged out of his corner, his supernaturally heightened senses catching the growing swell of power from the castle's air. A wild growl rumbled up from the man's narrow chest as he drew his wand, snapping a quick sealing spell over the room's tall windows. He had barely completed the gesture before Hogwarts' alarm reached a level audible to all the students as a rising banshee shriek. His shout rode over the wailing, "Students! Proceed to your dormitories, at once! Prefects, you will report to your Head of House and assist in taking role call. Now, _MOVE!_"

The mass of students were streaming out the door before any of them thought to protest. As he moved to follow them, Lupin caught at Takashi's arm, saying "Could you go with the Ravenclaws?" The auburn head inclined without question and the professor began herding his charges in the direction of the north towers. Tsuzuki caught his eye and said clearly, "I'll take the Slytherin students to their common room. Hisoka and Kyo can handle the Gryffindors." The shorter wizard gave him a grateful, lopsided grin. "Well, I suppose that leaves me with the Hufflepuffs."

Staring after Takashi's retreating back, Kyo caught an strangelook that one of the Ravenclaw girls, Amanda Fitzhugh, threw his way. It sent an odd shiver down his spine, and he wondered what the heck that was all about. But his confusion was forgotten as he hurried after the group of Gryffindors.

                                                    ****************

Harry's pulse was hammering in his ears, and it was not a pleasant feeling. Neither was the hard, dry lump in his throat, or the clammy sweat beading down the small of his back and along his ribs. 

He was scared.

The focused air of concentration around Kyo didn't do much to reassure him. The older boy was distracted, seeming to be listening to a conversation that was inaudible to normal ears, and it was pretty spooky. Harry, and of course, Hermione, Ron and Ginny, knew the real motives that brought the four Japanese to England. That the Japanese coalition had sent two young boys (and their respective husbands) as their emissaries was put down as a Japanese thing; Hisoka wasn't even old enough to shave. While they could envision Tsuzuki and Matsumada fighting evil wizards and banishing malicious ghosts, Hisoka, and to a certain extent, Kyo, seemed too. . .young for such a job. Not that Harry could say that they weren't any good; he had seen them battle the manticore after all. But still, one look at Hisoka's beautiful face and Kyo's guileless blue eyes, and the thought that these two were fighters of any kind was rather farfetched.

But now. . .watching them move in concert, he started to wonder just what kind of training omnyouji really got. Kyo's quick stride brought him up alongside the English boy where a light brush of his shoulder silently offered comfort. Hisoka paced at the head of the pack, his tread light and balanced. At every intersection, he moved out ahead of them, head tilted to one side as his abilities stretched out to seek danger. The talisman between his fingers was steady.

The horrible banshee wailing of the castle's alarm had the annoying habit of pausing for a couple of minutes, and then resuming. The sound grated on Harry's nerves, and he wondered how anyone would be able to hear an attacking force over the racket, let alone be able to think up a defensive plan. He was shaking visibly by the time the noise cut off for good, and was embarrassingly happy to see the Fat Lady's portrait up ahead, with a stern McGonagall standing watch beside it. She chivvied the mass of students through the opening, commanding that they all stay in the common room for the time being. 

A sudden warmth pressed close against his side made Harry look down in surprise. "Ginny?" he asked softly, "Are you okay?"

The redhead slipped an arm around his waist for a brief hug. "Yes, I think so," she whispered before releasing her hold on him. Both exchanged tight smiles. The common room was packed full, as if they had just won a Quidditch game, but it had none of the raucous high spirits that went with that kind of an event. Rather, the students were forming worried little clumps, speaking in hushed tones even as they stared nervously into the darker corners of the big room. Harry actually saw Dean clamping a hand over Seamus's mouth when the Irish boy looked to be cracking a joke, shooting a significant look at Harry's way.

The young wizard didn't blame Dean for his precaution. Close as he was to Kyo, and to some lesser degree, Hisoka, he didn't dare to say anything what with the heightened urgency that had put an unfamiliar wariness into the young omnyouji. Kyo was standing nearest to the portrait hole, paper talismans still blatantly displayed while Hisoka took up a position between the stair cases to the girls' and boys' dormitories, his 'fudas also held in readiness. People on either side of them were giving the Japanese nervous looks but the both of them ignored it

It was only when everyone was in and the Fat Lady's portrait spelled shut that Kyo and Hisoka finally put their talismans away, earning sighs of relief fromthat part of the House who had seen just what those little bits of paper were capable of. Harry and his friends chose seats on the floor near the roaring fireplace, and like everyone else, focused their attention upon Professor McGonagall and the Prefects, who were silently counting heads.

"The alarm you heard is the result of defense mechanism being activated," their Head of Housebegan without preamble, pursed lips thinned. "It signals when the castle's perimeter has been breached- "

"You mean You-Know-Who is attacking the castle?!"

The third year's frightened shout immediately triggered a flood of panic, as each sought to be heard over another, protesting that Hogwarts was the safest place in the wizarding world while a handful insisted that You-Know-Who himself was probably stalking the very halls right this minute. A huge bang from the professor's wand however, quickly restored order. That, and the threat of point deductions.

With the students back in their seats, looking abashed, the professor snapped "I assure you, if such an attack were underway, we would inform you. However, until the precise nature of the emergency is known, no one is to leave the common room. Should you require the use of the lavatory, or schoolbooks from your dormitory, you will ask a Prefect to escort you. Is this abundantly clear?" The Transfigurations Mistress waited impatiently until a rising murmur assured her that her charges had heard, and would obey. 

Her rigid spine relaxed marginally as she smiled fondly. Every one of these children were Gryffindors, even the honorary pair, the Japanese. The moment of panic had passed, and McGonagall knew that they would all make her proud.  She glanced around the crowded room, meeting the eyes of her House. "The Headmaster and the rest of the professors are in the process of tracking down and dealing with the disturbance. Our sole duty is to remain here, out from under foot. They will sound the all clear as soon as it is safe." With that, McGonagall left them to their own devices, quickly retiring to the little office by the common room that she rarely, if ever, used.

With resigned sighs and glances silently exchanged, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny took out their books, followed by the rest of the House and soon enough, the careful scratch of quill on parchment replaced the speculation and gossip. Kyo and Hisoka though, merely watched over them from opposite sides of the room.

                                                    ****************

Someone was tugging lightly at the short hairs by his ear, a soft giggle rumbling behind and to the side of him. Sleep was reluctant to let go of young Harry and he rose slowly from the welcome depths. He was first aware of the fact that the cushion underneath him was an intriguing mix of hard and soft, warmth leaching from the cotton covers. The hair tugging was abandoned in favour of the soft end of quill brushed lightly across his nose.

"Ron!" Harry whined, trying to burrow deeper into the cushion, "Cut it out!"

"Cut what out?" asked a very amused Ron from what sounded likea _several feet away. _

That little fact burned clearly in his befuddled mind and his eyes snapped open, going wide with sudden realisation. The scent of lilies and another soft, feminine giggle assured him that his comfortable pillow wasn't one and that he was in danger of staying permanently red. Almost fearful, he peered up through his bangs and sure enough, Ginny's laughing blue eyes met his, a gentle tilt of her lips conveying her amusement.

"Had a nice nap, Harry?" she asked, still smiling softly.

Harry swallowed hard, sure that even his eyes were turning red with the amount of blood in his head. He nodded dumbly and quickly scrambled up to a sitting position, patting his hair self-consciously and taking his glasses from a Hermione who was trying very hard to not burst into laughter. Thankfully, his close friends were the only witnesses, the rest of his House spread out in chattering groups as books, quills and parchments were packed away and students began making their way out of the portrait hole.

"What happened?" he asked hastily, and the grins on his friends' faces widened.

"The lockdown has been called off. It's lunchtime now," Ginny informed him cheerfully and helped Harry to gather his schoolwork together without asking.

Hermione continued where Ginny left off. "Professor McGonagall said that it's safe to go out now but classes are cancelled for today and tomorrow." She scowled fiercely at the thought of missing precious education time and scowled harder at Harry and Ron's fervent praises of "Thank Merlin!"

"Don't think that means you can get away with putting offthe Defense paper to the last minute, Ron," she scolded the redhead who merely grinned in response. "The professor said that until curfew, everyone has to stay in their common rooms except for meal times until tomorrow night. We're going to have leave you for that Harry," she explained apologetically. "Prefects are required to escort the students to and from the Great Hall."

Harry waved the apology away with a smile, shoving his bookbag under a convenient table. "Nah, I understand. Besides, I have Ginny here to. . ." he trailed off, and again, he cursed his fair skin which showed every pint of blood in it like a neon sign. "That is," he stammered, trying valiantly to ignore the snickering that had overcome his former best friends, "If. . if Ginny doesn't mind. . .?"

A small, warm hand stole into his, squeezing briefly. "I'd be happy to, Harry."

Harry took comfort in the fact that Ginny's cheeks were tinged a very becoming pink and he squeezed back her hand. A small part of him was horrified at his daring as he laced his fingers through the girl's, but the rest of him agreed wholeheartedly and applauded his Gryffindor bravery for such a bold move. It helped that the youngest Weasley apparently felt comfortable with the situation and did not mind the gentle grip at all.

Hermione had resorted to burying her face in a very disgruntled Crookshanks' fur while Ron was chortling outright.

"Shall we, Harry?" Ginny asked brightly, ignoring her brother and Hermione with an enviable aplomb.

Harry nodded silently, still overcome by the feel of Quidditchroughened fingers interlaced with his and the warmth that seeped to his very bones. It was onlyafter persuading Hermione to let go of her cat and Ron had subsided to occasional snickers that Harry finally noticed a couple of absences.

"Where's Kyo?" he asked, frowning.

Hermione pointed near the portrait hole. Both Kyo and Hisoka were there and each had changed into casual clothes with Kyo having his double holsters of 'fudas in full view. The taller Japanese was obviously trying to talk to the blond but judging by the stiff set of the younger shoulders, he wasn't listening. He shrugged off what was obviously a plea from the black haired boy and bolted out of the portrait hole, causing two small second years to stumble back in surprise. Defeat mingled with sadness was all too clear on Kyo's face and Harry's earlier happiness sank a little under his close friend's distress. But Kyo, with disconcerting speed, covered the anguish with a happymask. He turned and seeing Harry, cocked his head to the side, smiling and obviously inviting the boy out of the Tower.

With a forced smile of his own, Harry nodded his head and with Ginny by his side, joined Kyo in the ensuing rush for the Great Hall. Neither boy made any mention of Hisoka's disappearance and Ginny wisely said nothing.

                                                    ****************

Hisoka wasn't thinking about restrictions or curfews as he turned down corridor after corridor, steadily headingaway from the Great Hall and past empty classrooms. The stairs were obliging him today and in what seemed the blink of an eye, he was in the south wing, second floor.

The door to the Defense classroom was open and he could hear the sound of shuffling feet inside. Heart thudding in his throat, palms clammy with sweat and his empathy reaching out in a tangible wave for the presence he could practically _see _just inside the doors, Hisoka sidled quietly inside, feet in their canvas shoes making next to no sound on the stone floor. The sight of Tsuzuki, still clad in his professor's robes and crouched on the floor, wiping away the marks of warding was an almost physical blow.

Hisoka reeled back, the lack of a multitude of emotions pressuring his shields allowed him to feel the full impact of his husband's aura; one that was as familiar to him as his own. Hegasped softly, hands fumbling blindly behind him for the doorjamb to support his suddenly weak legs.

Tsuzuki spun around quickly, surprise widening his amethyst eyes which quickly turned to pleasure and a rapidly growing hunger that made Hisoka whimper.

"Tsuzuki. . ."

                                                    ****************

It wasn't a false alarm, Tsuzuki was damn sure of it. Like Takashi and the others, he had sensed the shift in energies that made up the wards of the castle, a delicate balance thrown out of tune from forceful entry by something that the stone's living awareness recognized as not one of its own.

But the castle's own defenses were its weakness. With so many protective spells placed throughout the centuries, the flow of magic was thick, almost muddy in some placesdue to lack of care. All the four Shinigami could sense was that there was something that didn't belong; an irritating anomaly as they couldn't unleash their full powers to track it down. While wizards weren't as adept as omnyouji at detecting spiritual auras, only a blind, deaf and mute wizard would fail to detect the strangeness that was a Shinigami's aura if they let go of their control over it.

He had escorted the Slytherins to their common rooms and made sure that everyone was accounted for, staying until their less-than-pleased Head of House arrived. He had then joined Takashi, Dumbledore and the rest of the professors who weren't responsible for a House in patrolling the corridors, having to rely on manual searches instead.

By lunchtime, Dumbledore had conceded defeat and lifted the lockdown. Tsuzuki wanted to protest, and he could tell that Takashi thought it was a bad move as well. But the Shinigami had yet to have a proper discussion with the Headmaster concerning their mission here and the former sensei was reluctant to assert any authority while the situation was still unclear.

It was only halfway to the Great Hall that Tsuzuki remembered the circle of runes still in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Left partly finished, he dreaded the thought of what an inquisitive student could do with that much stored power left lying around like a toy begging to be played with. Cursing softly under his breath, he had hurried back and sure enough, the chalked lines and runes glowed a soft red, thrumming with energy. Sighing, he got down to his knees and began the tedious process of dismantling the wards.

The task was almost meditative in nature; an ingrained habit from years of practice. As he bled out one rune after another, his thoughts turned to the current dilemma that the Japanese faced. It hadn't escaped Tsuzuki's attention that this mission was dragging his companions through Hell and back, tearing open the scars over events that they had long thought buried. And it worried him more than a little that his own soul might be next. He sighed, looking inward at the littered minefield of old sorrows and older regrets. No, he didn't _think_ his psyche was in any particular danger _this_ time. So many of his personal terrors had withered away the first time his small lover had kissed him, whispering "You're human. . .and I love you." For him, at least, the past really was likely to remain buried.

But even so, this was not turning out to be chocolate cake. He could feel the numbing despair in Hisoka, and knew that it was only a matter of time before the boy crumbled completely. It was hurting him to quarrel with Kyo over Harry's fate. Add to that his sense of helplessness when his friend had broken down, and Hisoka was a mess, himself. It was a distinct relief that the Headmaster had extended his permission for some time alone to include Tsuzuki and his partner, as well as Kyo and Takashi. _Though, _he thought ruefully, _the Fates seem to be conspiring against us_. He had come to an agreement with Takashi to trade off nights; that way, someone would always be with Harry and tonight was supposed to be their turn. But with all the commotion that thecastle was in, he doubted he'd be enjoying the long-missed feel of silky skin under his callousedpalms.

The circle was almost gone and with a soft sigh of regret, the last rune flared once, and disappeared. He sat back on his haunches, staring blankly before he heard a soft gasp from behind him. Tsuzuki turned quickly, mentally berating himself for letting down his guard until he realized that the intruder was none other than his husband.

He didn't know what was different this time; after all, he had been catching glimpses of Hisoka throughout the school, even posing as his professor. So why did the mere sight of his eternally sixteenyear old partner just then sent something akin to an electric shock through his body, jolting him like none of the runes did?

Hisoka's eyes, wide and expressive, shimmered with emotion that Tsuzuki belatedly recognisedas fear. The boy whimpered once before he twisted around, clearly meaning to flee.Without thinking, Tsuzuki sprinted into action, his long legs giving him the advantage as he quickly caught his runaway partner, and with the boy trapped in his arms, tugged him back into the empty classroom, the doors banging shut with the force of his will.

His matewas struggling in his arms, fists beating helplessly against his chest but Tsuzuki bore it silently, his mouth a thin, grim line. This was it. The final, absolute, last straw. Tsuzuki had had quite enough with having his younger partner run away from him, and it had to stop. He understood that Hisoka was under a great deal of stress; they all were. But it did not mean that he was going to tolerate any more of this sort of nonsense. The boy _needed _him, and he needed Hisoka in his turn. And, by Enma, they were going to spend some time together. Alone. If he had to kidnap the stubborn child in order to get it.

He said as much to the top of Hisoka's fair head, murmuring words that he was vaguely sure were comforting. It was his emotions that were doing most of the talking. Slowly and carefully so as to not send his husband into shock, he allowed his shields to lower and let Hisoka know just how much he missed the blond.

It took some time but Hisoka finally calmed down, only shivering slightly now and then before he spoke up, voice ragged. "We c-can't. Harry- "

"Is fine," his partner replied firmly. "Kyo will undoubtedly stick with the boy until dinner time at the very least. Harry doesn't need you. He's fine. I am much more concerned about what _you_ need."

The blunt statement had the desired effect of making the boy's face blaze crimson. Even the fine creases and curves of his ears were turning interesting shades. Ducking his head to hide behind the curtain of fine, straight hair was completely useless, and Tsuzuki felt his heart beat painfully hard in a mixture of pity and desire at the sight. That such small attentions could fluster the reserved boy never failed to move him. . .and to turn him on. He _liked_ seeing Hisoka blush, and some devil in his heart urged him to tease and flirt. . .to see just how far that warm color extended down the slender body. Tsuzuki's voice sank into an intimate murmur, "Maa, 'Soka-chan, you'll make yourself ill, worrying all the time. Let me see if you're running a temperature."

Startled, Hisoka's head jerked back up when a cool hand slid in beneath his concealing fringe, stroking across his heated forehead and trailing down to his cheek. It wasn't just the sensation of someone touching him that left Hisoka undone, but also the surge of emotional connectedness. He was falling into his life mate, into that clarity of feeling that wrapped him in its own ephemeral embrace. He stared up into the gentle concern in Tsuzuki's eyes, and saw it shift mercurially to passion, his pupils dilating to drown the petal soft violet. A terrified shiver rolled down the empath'sspine as the older man's hand curled around the nape of his neck, sliding inside the collar of his shirt.

Tsuzuki let his palm rest there for a moment, willing his impatience to shut up. Hisoka was frightened and needed the chance to adjust to the contact. It had been that way practically since the day that they had met, when the boy had held him at gunpoint. It had continued, an uncontrollable physical response, even when they finally became lovers. And in its own way, it made Tsuzuki want to cry for the injustice of a world that could hurt a child so badly.

Damnably, after such a long separation, it took better than fifteen minutes before the tightly strung tendons beneath his hand relaxed, and a tremulous sigh eased out of his smaller partner. The youth's arms came up, locking around Tsuzuki's waist, and he leaned into his warmth. "I've missed you." Hisoka whispered.

"And I, you." the older Shinigami replied gravely. The boy sighed in response, tucking the crown of his head beneath Tsuzuki's chin. They remained there, standing in the center of the room for several minutes, the tension easing from both of them until Hisoka was finally ready to speak.

He shuddered softly. "Hermione found a picture of my Father. I never knew that there was a book. . .that my family's curse had been written down anywhere. I had put it out of my mind, and I thought it was all forgotten. I was wrong, Tsuzuki."

"Mmm." The answer was vague, even though he nodded against the blond head that snuggled into the curve between his jaw and throat. The implied _Make me forget again,_ tugged at his heart. The lovely boy didn't deserve such horrible memories, and his useless family hadn't deserved _him_. How could they have not seen the value of the treasure in their midst? It had taken Tatsumi and Watari's intervention to break the legendary curse and to defeat the snake god intent on devouring the House of Kurosaki whole. But the blame for Hisoka's damaged soul belonged entirely to the mortal realm; to his thrice damned family, and to the soul-rapist Muraki that their cupidity had attracted to their midst. No god was responsible for the hurts done to the boy; humans were entirely the ones at fault.

Tsuzuki closed his eyes briefly: no use to howl overwhat was done. What was important was the present, that he make sure his mate knew just how much he was loved, how beautiful he really was and that he'd do it again and again, till time collapsed unto itself. He let his hands drift down, stroking softly as he familiarized himself again with the slim, lithe and ethereal form of the empath, proving with touch and emotions the depth of his feelings.

Hisoka's mouth opened in a soft gasp, his hands tightening on Tsuzuki's shoulders. His eyes half opened almost shyly, head turning to one side to let his hair drift across his face. His hips moved in answer to the touch of his love's hand, rocking him into the fingers and palm curled around the curve of his bottom. He kneaded the muscles at the back of Tsuzuki's neck, his actions becoming almost frantic. "Ts- Tsu. . .zuki. . ." he stammered incoherently, aware that the low flame kindled in his belly was just as apparent to the older man as they slipped into synch. That they were still standing in the middle of the Defense classroom, fully clothed and locked into a clinch that had the potential to become embarrassingly pornographic was making the smaller Shinigami decidedly uncomfortable. It was also painfully arousing. Which, as he caught a glimpse of the infuriatingly broad grin working its way onto Tsuzuki's face, was probably exactly what the man had in mind.

Oh, it _definitely_ was. Both of Tsuzuki's hands were now engaged in fondling his buttocks. The tall man leaned back a little, the shift in balance allowing him to lift Hisoka from the floor. He had to have been counting on the blond's instinctive response, which was to wrap his unsupported legs around his partner's hips. The movement opened the crease between the boy's cheeks, allowing Tsuzuki's agile fingertips to rub over his entrance, promising and teasing. Groaning, Hisoka muttered a curse. Gods. . .that felt _so_ good. . .

For his part, Tsuzuki was sure that if his ear to ear grin got any wider that he would dislocate something. Through the tight stretched fabric of the boy's slacks the heat of his body was almost more than Tsuzuki could bear. And the noises that he was making -! The boy squirmed breathlessly, and risked letting go entirely of his partner's neck, transferring his thin fingers to the knot in his partner's tie. And cursed again in a shaking falsetto as the crooked knot resisted. Then the tie was off, and the buttons of Tsuzuki's shirt were yielding, and oh. . .Enma send him on to Eternal Judgement if that wet mouth moving across his chest wasn't the best damned thing that he had ever felt.

Sharp teeth followed the line of his collarbone and up, biting with deceptive care at the raised lines of Tsuzuki's straining throat. He retaliated by squeezing the flesh cupped in his hands, and Hisoka squeezed back with his thighs. His shirt was open nearly to his navel now, granting access to his nipples and the smooth planes of his chest. The little demon's nails scraped lightly over the washboard pattern of the older man's ribs as his hands travelled inside the confines of the crumpled white shirt. One of them snaked around to Tsuzuki's back, using its owner's empathic connection to find and manipulate each of the pressure points there. The other followed the same tactic on his front, massaging the pads of muscle that bunched helplessly under the assault.

Tsusuki jerked the suspended boy tightly against him, rubbing his own erection against Hisoka's exposed genitals. After having nothing but their shared dreams for weeks, the firm caress of another's aroused body was almost enough to bring him off on the spot. Judging by the harsh panting against his throat, the feeling was mutual.

Hisoka wriggled a hand down between their bodies, but it was impossible to unbuckle either of their belts. He plunged back and forth, shuddering as his lover's fingers tried to probe through the light wool of his trousers, and his own questing digits encountered a hot, damp space between them. A muscle in his thigh twitched, sending a ripple of sensation straight to his groin. _Ah.__ . ._Hisoka stroked his thumb over the tops of both their erections, his empathy feeding the falling wrench of the impending crisis back and forth between their minds. It was just too good to stay contained, and the earthquake-sized tremors sweeping out rumpled the air around their bodies with a pulse of intense magic. Tsuzuki's hoarse voice was pleading for him to _Wait__! Damn it! _but he couldn't have held back if he'd wanted to.

Tsuzuki's legs buckled as another shock wave of power burst out, centered on the root chakra at the base of the Hisoka's spine. There was no mistaking the sexual flavor of the intense energy, visibly red as it spread out. It shivered in time with the tempo of the boy's orgasm, a visible manifestation of the clenching of his muscles and his sharp cry of agony. Hisoka lurched back, the movement limited by his legs locked around his partner, hyperventilating with the desperation of his need to feel Tsuzuki buried inside his body. Another violent spasm rocked his form, tinted orange with the energy of his sacral chakra. He wanted Tsuzuki, would take him dry and unprepared, accepting the damage that it would do to his too small body, but his clothes were in the way. The internal muscles shook, poised on edge of the secondary orgasm that would shatter him into a million pieces. When had he gotten so used to feeling another person deep inside his body? It didn't matter; his scream of frustration tore out of his throat as he folded the space around them and teleported the two of them out of Hogwarts.

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Kyo, as fidgety as a cat on a hot tin roof, was damn sure that they were being lulled into a false sense of security. He kept expecting someone, or some_thing _to jump out at him or Harry from around a dark corner. It got so bad that he had to visibly restrain himself from reaching for his ofudas again. He was aware (and a little part of him was maliciously gleeful about it) that the students tendedto get nervous when he did that.  Lunch was a strained affair for him. He had tried to talk to Hisoka again before coming down, but the blond had brushed him off with a cold smoothness that was distinctly Hisoka. His nerves were frayed, thinning strands snapping under the pressure of an unresolved fight with his best friend and the sure insistence that they were going to be attacked _right now and no, he didnot want any fish and chips, thank you, Hermione!_

Surrounded on all sides by the bright laughter of children a third his age, and unburdened by the troublesome instincts born from more than three decades of fighting things that are best not mentioned at the dining table, Kyo was practically grinding his teeth in frustration. Takashi was at the staff table, face similarly pale and the one glance they had exchanged confirmed that his husband felt the same uneasiness as well. The slight nod Takashi gave told him that the professors weren't as sure and the knot in Kyo's stomach tightened.

It didn't help that nothing happened during lunch, not during the walk back andnot during the impromptu chess match between the sixth and seventh years. By the time Ron was declared the undisputed chess king of Gryffindor, Kyo was in the process of ripping his fifth blank parchment to shreds, Crookshanks purring ecstatically as strips of paper littered his fur and fell further victim to his claws.

"Nervous much?" 

Kyo jumped, cursing at the unexpected voice. Hermione subjected him to an amused, if slightly reprimanding stare. "I don't think even a boy your age is supposed to know that many swear words, Kyo."

The black haired Japanese refused to blush. He was too old for all this stress and tension, dammit! He growled something unintelligible under his breath and went back to his duty as a human paper shredder. Hermione sat down beside him, watching silently. After a minute or two, she said, softly, "Kyo, are you alright?"

"No, I'm not alright!" Kyo snapped. "Everyone is damn sure that nothing's going to happen and they're all _blind!_" 

Hermione blinked, surprised by his vehement reaction. Almost everyone in Gryffindor had noticed the Japanese's edginess and as dinnertime neared, he was practically jumping out of his skin. Harry had given up trying to calm him down and had wandered off to cheer on Ron. In fact, everyone was giving him a wide berth until Hermione herself had taken it up as her duty to reassure their honorary Gryffindor. Now, if only she could find their _other _honorary Gryffindor who had decided to pull a disappearing act on them. When she had informed McGonagall earlier of Hisoka's absence, the professor had looked alarmed, before realisation dawned in her eyes and she actually blushed, telling Hermione that she was. . .ah, _sure _that Mr. Kurosaki wasjust fine.

It took cornering Harry beforeHermione found out about the relaxed restrictions on the Japanese. While she was happy for them, she wondered whether Kyo would actually benefit from a night with his husband as well.

With careful aplomb, she told Kyo that. 

At least, it had the effect of temporarily leaving the boy dumbstruck until he gave a strangled hiss and went back to his shredding with renewed vengeance.

When the portrait hole was unsealed for dinner, Kyo joined Harry's group, stuffing his twitching hands into his pockets. He thought about running back to the dorms to get a sweater; he was only wearing a black short-sleeved t-shirt over a long-sleeved white one and his most faded jeans, his black holsters prominent on both legs. But Harry was already clambering over the portrait hole and something warned the Japanese that he better not let the young wizard out of his sight

"Harry!" he called out. "Wait up!"

Harry stopped, turning around and giving him an impatient look. "Hurry up! I'm hungry!"

Kyo rolled his eyes. Trust a sixteenyear old to think about his stomach at a time like this. Managing a small grin as he contemplated the little consistencies of life, Kyo jogged lightly towards Harry, Ginny waiting patiently by his side. He was just about to giveHarry an affectionate clip around the head, had in fact, brushedhis fingers over Harry's hair when the stones cried out.

_Danger! Attack!Protect the children! _

He moved intuitively, his intended swatturning into a powerful grip as he grabbed both Harry and Ginny. "Everyone!" he shouted. The students stopped in their tracks, confusion evident on their faces. "Back to the Tower! Now!"

*****to be continued*****

**A/N: **We haven't had a long chapter like that in ages. Tsk, internet-deprivation; it's amazing what it can do to you. HAVE YOU READ THE WARNING PRECEEDING THE CHAPTER? If you haven't, I highly encourage you to do so.

**Librarycat****: **Kyo calling Harry a peach. . .Okay, aside from being general slang, the peach is the Taoist Tree of Life in the Kun Lun Paradise. It bestows immortality and is the food of the Taoist immortals. It was thought that the peaches in the celestial orchard ripened every 3000 years. It's auspicious to have a peach.

**Kelly:  ***points above* That was a remark left by Lisa after beta-ing the chapter. I figured you guys might like to know that little tidbit.


	27. Chapter 27:Through the love for her son

**Title: **When Death Comes a'Knocking: Book 1 – Of Revelations

**Plot Mistresses: **Shiozaki, Shaynie, Librarycat, Literary Eagle

**Spell Researchers: **Fellow wizards, witches and onmyouji at my Yahoo!Group

**Scene Masters: **Shiozaki and Librarycat

**Beta-d by: **Librarycat

**Warning: **R – please remember the warning in the previous chapter

**Review replies:**

Ah, again, I am unable to reply individually but rest assured, those who have asked specific questions, their answers will be addressed here. I'm doing this in the cepartment lab and am paranoid that someone is reading over my shoulder! I'll try for the next chapter, ne? Thank you so much for your support!

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**Questions:**

**Q1: **Is Muraki going to appear here? Is he a Shinigami? Is he coming back?

**K: **Muraki is DEAD. And no, he's not a Shinigami. They only got his journal. Which happens to be coded because Muraki was a smart man and slightly insane (okay, majorly insane). No such man will leave his journals lying about with no form of protection whatsoever. What they'll discover from the journal. . .well, wait and see, ne?

**Q1: **With Hermione discovering the book about the Kurosaki, won't they know that Hisoka's dead? That all the Japanese are dead?

**L: **Hermione herself was disgusted with the book in that it didn't say when or how the curse was broken. It occurred shortly before the death of the last head of the family.

"Great Wizarding Families of Japan" said that the main line of the Kurosaki had died out. But Hisoka identified the man in the photo as his father, the sixteeth and final head of the clan. Therefore, for some reason he didn't inherit. That means that he was _dis_inherited, or that he refused his family. No dates involved in the description in Chapter 25.

We already know that wizards tend to live exceptionally long lives. The worst that can happen is that Hisoka is older than he looks.

Hermoine is NOT going to leap to the conclusion that Hisoka is dead, because he looks, acts, and feels alive to her, and to everyone else. "Dead" generally means things like ghosts, or zombies, or icky corpses with worms. Not pretty boys who blush and fight with their best friend... and happen to be married.

**Q1: **How can a Ravenclaw (Amanda Fitzhugh), be a spy for Voldemort?

**K: **How can Peter Pettigrew betray his friends when he's a Gryffindor? The Slytherins are known for their cunning. Cunning doesn't equate with evil. Intelligence can do evil just as well as bravery, loyalty and craftiness can.

The rest of the questions, I refuse to answer. Not because I'm trying to be b, but because I believe in "Show, don't tell". Actually, my first instinct was to not even answer the above. Keeps the suspense going, ya know? grin****

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**Chapter 27**

**Through the love for her son**

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A rush of stale air and the distinctive feel of the plane of existence around him told Tsuzuki that they had transported to the temporary apartment that the Tuatha de Dannan had given them. He was more than a little impressed that Hisoka had managed to take both of them to the British Land of the Dead. He doubted that the small blond normally would have had the power to pull it off.

But the tiny apartment had a bed.

And a shower.

And Hisoka had to be getting uncomfortable in his soiled clothing.

The taller Shinigami staggered to his feet, still clutching the shaking body of his lover hard against his chest. Oh, yes. A shower. He hadn't forgotten that the beat of hot water had the power to melt away the little empath's inhibitions. Although those were pretty well gone already for them to have been making out in the ­­­­­­­­­Defense classroom. He snickered, beginning a slow rain of kisses across the top of the boy's fair hair, paying special attention to the upper curve of his ears. Hisoka's head fell back, exposing the long, smooth line of his throat. Tsuzuki obliged by setting his teeth firmly onto the pulse that hammered there, then scraping up across the cartilage that outlined the younger boy's Adam's apple.

Eyes that had taken on the supernatural luminosity of the Realm of the Dead fluttered open, their green glazed with residual lust, but the boy didn't struggle. It was probably just as well that the effort of teleporting through the impressive wards of the mortals' castle had sapped some of the desperate energy from him; Tsuzuki wanted to take it slow and drive his husband to the brink of losing control at least once more before satisfying himself. Sometimes, Hisoka just didn't get it that, thanks to his empathy, the older Shinigami could enjoy _both_ of their experiences.

He managed to flick on the light in the bathroom without releasing his hold on the precious burden that he clutched to him. There was a pile of towels neatly folded on the end of the counter closest to the shower stall, and both a bar of soap and a bottle of shampoo on a ledge inside. But he would have to let go of the young empath in order to turn on the water, and Hisoka wasn't cooperating. In fact, he seemed to be recovering nicely, to judge by the slow undulation of his torso. Parted lips invited Tsuzuki's tongue in for a slow exploration.

"Mmmph. . ." The sweet, liquid heat was better than he remembered. Tsuzuki rubbed the tip of his tongue over the sharp edges of his mate's teeth, and tickled across the smooth ridges on the roof of his mouth. The boy's tongue slid along the underside of his, probing gently at the slick webbing of tissue beneath. Tsuzuki stepped blindly forward until he felt the hard edge of the counter top against his thighs, and lowered Hisoka's rear onto it. The boy's legs relaxed their fierce grip, although he kept a leg hooked around the back of the older Shinigami's knee. Freed, Tsuzuki's hands moved on their own to the buttons on Hisoka's shirt and began slowly to undo them, flicking his tongue insistently as each one gave way.

By the time he had run out of buttons, Hisoka was panting audibly, leaning back against the large mirror. Over his head, Tsuzuki could see himself reflected: face flushed, lips gone crimson from exertion, his hair hopelessly rumpled. Hisoka's telepathic vision echoed the mirror's image, just enough out of synch with it that he felt as if he had a ghostly double. One that was far sexier, with his shirt falling down off of one shoulder and a bite mark filled with subcutaneous blood over the curve of his collar bone.

Lust, just as much the empath's as his own, burned across his senses. His hands were shaking as he undid the boy's belt, and unzipped his sticky pants. A ghostly smile quirked up Hisoka's lips as he watched himself being undressed, mingling Tsuzuki's sight with his own point of view. A few deft wiggles later, and both his trousers and briefs were out from under his bottom, trapped by Tsuzuki's presence between his legs. Grinning, the older man sent back a good look at just how erotic it was to have the youth leaning back, shirt open, pants half down, the smooth ripples and pale curves of his lean chest leading the eye to the swelling, darker pink cock nestled in blond curls.

"Hmm. You look absolutely edible," Tsuzuki murmured, licking his lips suggestively. The youth's erection twitched, a glistening bead of fluid gathering at the tip before sliding, jewel-like down the shaft.

"Then do something about it." throatily, Hisoka answered, his brilliant summer green gaze flicking down his own body, then back up to capture his husband's eyes. Tsuzuki felt the breath freeze in his lungs. The deliberate flirtation was a side of Hisoka that he rarely got to see, hidden as it normally was beneath the layers of defensive armor that the boy preferred to protect himself with. He took a cautious step back, reaching blindly for the calf of Hisoka's leg, letting his hand slide down to the shoe and sock that needed to come off. He did the same for the other delicate foot, pausing to massage the fine tendons at the back of the heel, and on down the sole to the smooth swell of the ball. There were no calluses. The final three years of Hisoka's life had been spent trapped by illness in a hospital bed, and even before that, he had spent so much of his time confined that his feet were as smooth and tender as a camellia. Tsuzuki took another step back, easing off both his own trousers and Hisoka's.

There was no doubt in his mind that the soft whimper from his partner meant that the younger Shinigami was aroused. A quick glance up the length of his reclining body found him watching the boy licking pale pink lips unconsciously while his glowing eyes were fixed on Tsuzuki's groin. He pushed their rumpled pants aside, undoing the cuffs of his white shirt and tossing it onto the pile as well. Hisoka's green gaze flicked up, meeting his, then slid to the side, even as his mind's touch begged for his partner. Tsuzuki grasped one trim ankle and lifted it to his mouth, bending forward to allow his other hand to slide up the silky, translucent flesh of the boy's thigh. He stroked, hand and mouth both following lazy, circling patterns, until he kissed the arched curve on the foot and caressed the small toes with the heat of his tongue. The muscles beneath his other hand jerked, and a soft, trembling laugh followed.

Tsuzuki gently lowered the boy's foot and ran the imprisoning hand up that leg as well, continuing until his thumb rubbed the outside edge of the thatch of blond hair at its junction. Hisoka's hips jerked involuntarily, and that was all the invitation necessary to bring his mouth down onto the youth's straining erection.

The salt taste of his earlier climax mingled with that of a fine dew of sweat that dampened the curling hair. Tsuzuki grasped his hips, forcing him to remain still while he licked and teased up each side of the hot flesh. He paid special attention to the slit at the tip, eliciting both a trickle of clear liquid and a low moan that turned into a stuttering attempt at his name. Hisoka's reactions to the physical stimulus slammed into his mind, momentarily blacking out the feel and taste supplied by his own senses. The boy bucked up into his mouth, escaping from the imprisoning grasp on his hips, and screaming his name.

They were both panting hard by the time he backed off.

Hisoka sat up on the counter's edge, fumbling for a drawer between his legs. Puzzled, Tsuzuki moved back, granting him better access. The drawer's contents were a confused jumble of toiletries and sweets, some of which he recognized as things that Hisoka tended to hide in odd places, just in case of 'emergencies.' And that detail made the rest of the mish-mash click into place and he grinned. Ever methodical, Hisoka had left behind in their apartment a stash of spare goodies, things that he hadn't expected to be able to get in Britain. And that most likely included the brand of edible lube that they both preferred. He reached that conclusion just as the boy triumphantly held up a familiar blue tube.

"Now," Hisoka said firmly. He pressed the tube into his lover's hand and leaned back onto his elbows, resting his shoulders and neck against the mirror. Tsuzuki struggled unsuccessfully to contain the laughter bubbling up from the pit of his stomach.

He couldn't help repeating "Now?" in his most clueless voice. Hisoka huffed impatiently, hooking an ankle behind his knees to draw him in closer between his legs, muttering "Idiot!" in an affectionate tone.

Tsuzuki leaned down to kiss him on the mouth, nibbling carefully. "Hmm. I don't know. . ." He licked at the point of Hisoka's chin and began working his way along the soft, hairless line of his jaw. "It's been so long. What I am I supposed to do again?"

A low growl rumbled in his mate's chest, and Tsuzuki kissed there as well, licking each nipple and keeping the boy distracted. His busy hands unscrewed the top of the tube and squeezed out a generous dollop of clear gel. He fumbled the cap, dropping it, but managed to set the tube down next to the stack of towels. The lubricant was warming between his fingers as he rubbed them together, distributing it until they were slick up to the second knuckle. There was a faint scent of sandalwood, and the older Shinigami blessed the impulse that had made him choose that aroma for his after shave as well. He moved back up to lick Hisoka's lips, then plunged his tongue into the receptive mouth, even as his first finger plunged into another opening.

Hisoka shrieked into his mouth, a galvanic shock rippling through his slender frame. The sudden movement drew Tsuzuki's questing finger all the way in, effortlessly passing the tight ring of muscle that tried to clamp down on the invader. The boy was pushing down, driving him toward the hidden spot inside that craved his contact. Tsuzuki obliged, biting down on Hisoka's tongue as he slid a second finger into the hot opening, feeling his partner's body contract involuntarily. His slim body was surprisingly strong. A fact that was immediately clear as he began to struggle, trapped in an unthinking quicksand between the terror of instinct and overwhelming desire. Tsuzuki dropped the last of his shields, drawing Hisoka's anguish into himself, surrounding and comforting even as his ruthless fingers stroked deep within the boy's body. Somehow, the taller Shinigami managed to reach around the heaped towels without upsetting the whole pile and turned on the shower with his free hand.

When the room began to fog with steam, Tsuzuki pulled his husband closer, gathering up the deceptively frail form. His greater height worked to his advantage, allowing him to get his arms under Hisoka's thighs, urging the slender legs to wrap around Tsuzuki's torso without forcing him to break off their blindly groping kiss.

Hisoka was openly sobbing against his mouth, thin arms fighting to push the older man away, even as his empathy hungrily bound them closer together. Tsuzuki backed clumsily into the shower, letting the hot spray hit his own shoulders first, briefly worried about the temperature. But it was okay, and he turned to let it strike Hisoka's back full force.

The shock was worth it. For the barest instant, his smaller partner's mind was clear, cognizant of where he was and what he was doing, then the pounding heat triggered a cascade of sensation that flooded down through his body. His arms came up, locking around Tsuzuki's neck as his head tilted forward, and his struggles melted into an impassioned kiss. Eagerly, Tsuzuki followed, letting the joy in his heart pour back through their bond. He had been briefly afraid that their separation and Hisoka's ongoing quarrel with Kyo had damaged their own rapport, but now that it was back full force, he intended to take advantage of it. And it seemed that the boy in his arms felt the same way.

Wet hair turning from fly-way gossamer to heavy amber-brown strands clung to Hisoka's cheekbones. Rivulets of hot water from the shower overwhelmed the sticky trails made by his tears, rinsing them away. He moaned, suspended between the lassitude brought on by the pounding spray and desire that was far more than merely a need for sex. Tsuzuki felt his own heartbeat slip into step with his love's, and deepened their kiss tenderly. When Hisoka's tongue followed his back into his mouth, Tsuzuki drew his fingers out of his partner, and gently slid his cock home in their place.

He could feel the small body shift and stretch to accommodate him, muscles rippling in an internal dance that never failed to drive him crazy. But he held back, reining in the urge to stoke the fire that was building around him. It had taken Tsuzuki a long time to reconcile his heart's instinctive understanding that Hisoka had an adult's soul, with the adolescent form that he wore. Almost too long, as the constant flirting had hurt by promising contact without delivering. But now the problem was very nearly the opposite; his link to Hisoka's conscious and unconscious mind made him sometimes forget that his partner's body was very nearly that of a child. And the last thing that Tsuzuki wanted was to do the same kind of damage that Muraki had, to bruise and tear that delicate flesh.

Of course, that didn't mean that Hisoka was going to be patient and cooperate. A surprisingly deep growl vibrated through Tsuzuki's breast bone, originating in the slim boy. Who took advantage of his hold around his husband's neck to draw himself up, and to then slam himself back down onto the man's erection. The older Shinigami felt his breath leave his body in a startled squawk. But then he had the youth's back pressed against the water slicked tile and was repeatedly driving himself into the welcoming heat, his earlier reticence forgotten in the intense pleasure resonating between them.

It was the quiet, reserved ones who tended to become the most vocal, and Hisoka was definitely no exception. Any tenants in the apartment on the other side of the wall were probably getting their money's worth as the boy threw his head back, striking the wall hard. He screamed an obscenity that Tsuzuki's addled mind heard without understanding. _He_ was too busy biting the lobe of one ear while his broader, stronger hands lifted the boy and brought him back down with brutal force. Hisoka gave a gasping shout as the combined internal pressure and the wet slide of Tsuzuki's straining stomach muscles over the boy's erection brought him off, filling the space between their bodies with a different hot wetness. Every muscle in his trim body spasmed, sending a rippling, squeezing assault back physically, his mind exploding into white ecstasy when the internal orgasm struck. Tsuzuki couldn't have resisted if he'd wanted to; his body followed blindly even as his own, hoarser shout joined his husband's.

* * *

The students were eyeing him nervously, huddled together in clumps of five or less. Each group had settled on the floor near the back wall of the common room, the one directly opposite the now sealed again portrait. The furniture had been pushed back to make room for the children, as well as in the event of a fight breaking out.

Kyo surveyed the frightened students grimly. He would have preferred to make the numbers in each group smaller, making the protection more effective as it would have less ground to cover, but he had run out of _kekkai _'fudas. The appointed leader of each group, those he and Professor McGonagall had judged to be the steadiest in the lot, were holding on to the creamy slips of rice paper with a sort of desperate determination. Harry was the leader of his own group which consisted of his two best friends, Ginny and Neville. The-Boy-Who-Lived's 'fuda was markedly different than the rest; the spell was written in the blood of the caster, doubling the strength of the ward for Kyo knew with absolute grim certainty that the oncoming attack was aimed at the young boy.

"Is everyone clear on the instructions?" McGonagall spoke up by his side. She had taken one look at his face earlier and had immediately ordered her charges back into the relative safety of the Tower with a briskness that had achieved instant results. "Remember, no one, and I mean _no one_," here, she aimed a special look at Harry's group, the children grimacing, "Is to play the hero. Stay under Mr. Shiozaki's ward and _do not move! _Any who fail to obey this will face suspension. Am I clear?"

Murmurs of assent filled the room and she nodded, satisfied. She turned to Kyo then, her own 'fuda peeking out from a pocket in her robes. Taking his elbow, she steered him to the portrait, intent on not letting the students overhear them.

"Shiozaki?" she said in a low voice, her eyes pinning him under their steady regard. "Do you have any idea as to what is attacking the castle?"

"Not for sure," Kyo replied shortly. "But, if it's what I think it is, I'm afraid I'd have to ask _you _to follow the same instructions as well, professor. We don't have much time," he added hurriedly when the Transfigurations Mistress' eyes narrowed dangerously. "I need to track it down before it disappears again."

"Shiozaki—" she started furiously.

"Professor," Kyo broke in. "Please."

They each refused to back down, both aware of the uneasy muttering rising from behind them. It was McGonagall who broke off the contest first, pale cheeks flushed faintly. She nodded, once, before taking a step back and no more, clearly meaning 'I'll let you do your job but that does not mean I'll slip meekly to the side'.

It was more than enough for Kyo and he quickly stepped closer to the wall beside the Fat Lady's portrait. Precious minutes had been spent in making sure of the Gryffindors' safety first and all through it, he was aware of the stone's increasing agitation. Whatever this threat was, it was moving closer and closer to its target, and the castle could not do anything to stop or hinder it, blocked by something beyond Kyo's current grasp.

The Shinigami placed his hands, palms down, on the cool stone and closed his eyes. He allowed his consciousness to submerge slowly in a pool of heightened awareness, intothat limbobetween what the mind perceives and deducesand what the heart sees and hears. The magic he possessed allowed him access to the world around him and it was a two-way relationship; nature was by no means a mindless force, but a sentience was evident in each of its aspects and it wasthrough this awareness, through their understanding of his true self and being that they gave him access to the powers that many overlooked or discarded as pure, dumb force.

In what his mind made out as the passing of eons, but in reality was only a few seconds, he had laid himself open, ready and willing, and stone, the repository of the earth's memories, the bones of ancient civilisations, revealed to him itsglory. Complex matrices that burned in patterns of blinding radiance caught him and made him one of them. He knew the centuries-old patience of rock grinding away to dust, as echoes of laughter and tears were recorded and imprinted into the intricate strands of minerals. He was the castle given voice that grew deeper in tone as he descended lower and lower, trickling down to the roots of the structure itself as he followed the tugging that signified the element's unease. The disquieting notion was at odds with the vast peace of an element that counted years as merely a drop in an ocean but Kyo accepted it silently. His descent slowed suddenly, reaching a darker lattice of ore and minerals than those he passed before and he halted, magic reaching out for the source of the uneasiness.

He got the impression of thousands of feet passing to and fro, of cauldrons hissing and bubbling, of whispered secrets and devious plots, of a kiss stolen in the dark of night where the sun didn't shine and of glittering eyes and the sweet scent of lavender. And he felt the icy-cold touch of a spirit that burned with the hatred of a thousand suns and was consumed with the notion of a twisted parody of love, and the yearning for that imitation to be returned.

Kyo returned to his own awareness with a resounding snap that guaranteed a headache later and an oath on his lips.

"Shiozaki? What's wrong? What did you find?"

He ignored the professor and instead, held out his right hand from his side. He glared at his hand, willing his magic to separate and give life to a part of him and rapped out, "_Come! Quickly!_"

The air around him shimmered darkly, and for a moment, an observer would have thought that the Japanese had twisted the very fabric of reality. There was a sound, like a thin cord snapped in two, and gripping his arm where there had been nothing, was a coal-black raven. The bird cocked its head, cawing inquisitively.

"Tell Takashi that it's heading towards the Slytherin dungeons!" Kyo took no notice of the shocked gasps behind him, focusing all of his attention on his personal shikigami. "Now go!"

The raven fluffed its gleaming feathers once and took off, gaining impossible speed in such a short distance. The unearthly bird passed straight through the portrait, earning a shriek from its occupant. Kyo closed his eyes briefly, offering a hurried prayer to Enma. He hoped that they got there in time. For the spirit he sensed carried murder in its purpose.

* * *

Takashi walked slowly, his footsteps setting a steady pace as he covered the dark and gloomy back hallways of Hogwarts. Even as he paced the left wall of an abandoned wing near the Hufflepuff dorms, now home to a number of magical, sentient beings that skittered away at his presence (Takashi now knew that when wizards talked about chasing down dust bunnies, they were _serious_), he let go of the control he had on his aura ever so slightly; causing the few brave, glowing eyes in the dark to disappear abruptly.

Like duck to water, he revelled in even that miniscule freedom of allowing his true nature to shine through. It had been too long since he had done so and he missed it. The precaution had become almost instinctive to him, and tothe others as well, to. . .stifle, and there was no better for word for it, their spiritual signature in the presence of so many enhanced humans gathered in one place. The former sensei had to admit; it was odd at first, to realise that he wasn't human. That he wouldnever be one again. For by the most basic definition, a human being had to be _alive _in the first place to be considered as one. Which, by definition alone, a Shinigami wasn't.

He and Watari had once worked together on an independent study intothe true purpose of a Shinigami, him intrigued by the idea that gods of death were anomalies in the system, rather than a planned design, thanks to an offhand remark by Kyo on a movie date. Watari, whom he discussed the idea with afterwards, insisted that there was actually more to it than what his mundane mind could perceive (he threatened to dye the blond's hair blue if the scientist insisted on calling him 'mundane' again).

Needless to say, their research fizzled out when they received a politely worded note from the Halls of the Dead, complete with the dazzling seals of Enma, stating in basic terms: look, you're here, you're a Shinigami, I'm happy, you're happy, so let's leave it at that. Or would you prefer a substantial pay cut?

Watari was rather miffed, which made everyone avoid Tatsumi like the plague for a whole two weeks because when Watari gets miffed, Tatsumi gets pissed. And a pissed off Tatsumi is _not _a Happy Tatsumi. Takashi didn't mind though. He didn't exactly have a burning desire to discover the real reason they werethere. Kyo helped to remind him of that thenight he and Watari received the telling-off from Enma by wearing his new outfit which somehow involved very few pieces of leather and not much else. He was, Takashi had decided rather groggily, pretty happy with being an anomaly if it meant he could enjoy Kyo parading around in leather for an indefinite amount of time.

Takashi shook his head, grinning ruefully as his thoughts invariably returned to his life mate. Not surprising considering the time they spent together yesterday. His grin got wider as he fondly reminisced. Prolonged celibacy seemed to make his husband randier than usual and it had resulted in some very memorable experiences to be treasured.

A high-pitched squeak brought Takashi back from his pleasant daydreams and he chastised himself for letting his attention wander off. He stopped, just a few paces away from the painting of a sunny field bathed in gold and yellows with a shepherdess and her flock (can the Hufflepuffs get more obvious with their entrance guardian?), cocking his head to the side as he extended his senses out and beyond. Nothing dangerous met his questing power and he sighed.

Pursing his lips thoughtfully, Takashi looked cautiously up and down the hallways. Satisfied that it was all clear, he quickly moved back into the shadows, taking an unexplored left turning and he allowed his aura to flare out just a little bit more. He kept his hand on the wall, trailing it behind him as he walked, sparks of gold and green shooting out from beneath his fingertips. The ancient magic of the castle answered him, letting him see itsstructure and patterns, identifying what belonged and which didn't.

He had a lot more ground to cover before dinner, what with Kyo busy guarding Harry and Hisoka and Tsuzuki _both _playing hooky. _Not that I mind, _Takashi sighed internally. _Enma knew that the both of them need the time together. Though, _he thought rather sourly, _they could at least have stayed on the mortal plane. But nooo. . .they just _had _to choose the Realm. _It had taken three confused shikigami before Takashi finally realised that his two friends weren't on the human level, as he had only used a lesser powered, not-quite-a-dove shikigami, instead of the specialised ones they used for inter-realms tracking.

His stomach growled just then and the auburn haired man winced. _Right, let's hurry this up then_. His earlier sense of unease had not abated and he wished again that Tsuzuki and Hisoka were around. More people to cover ground that way. A tap on the wall told him that it was nearly dinnertime and he had yet to find even a demonised doorknob. Takashi took one last glance behind him to the rapidly diminishing square of light that signalled friendly territory and sighed.

It was with some regret, as Takashi neared the Headmaster's office that he reined in the spiritual signature that marked him as one among the dead, dulling the brilliant glow to an almost fudged up white. It never failed to momentarily upset the Shinigami whenever he ventured into the mortal world; upset for having to lose the pleasure of basking in such vividness of presence when in Meifu. But more than three months on this plane had gotten him somewhat used to it. Like slipping into a detested pair of socks from an aunt because said aunt was coming over for dinner.

He lifted his hand away from the cold wall as well, not wanting the Headmaster or anyone else to know of his ability to manipulate the magic imbued within the castle. It was a side effect of sorts from his ability to manipulate Kyo's own powers over the elements, teaching him how to recognise and feel the flow of magic and to coax it to his bidding. His search had proved fruitless, the slippery intruder not even close to capture, much less discovery.

A right turn and down a short flight of steps brought him to a straight hallway that led directly to the gargoyle that marked the Headmaster's office. The very same gargoyle in fact, was standing open and he could see both Dumbledore and Lupin together, deep in discussion. Takashi allowed his next step to fall a little louder on the stone and both silver and tawny head snapped up, smiles gracing their faces as they spotted him.

"Headmaster," he nodded in greeting. "Remus. Any luck?" he asked, more out of routine than anything else. He knew they hadn't had any either,and they did not disabuse him.

"None," Dumbledore sighed, the ends of his moustache fluttering. He patted his robes, dug into a pocket and came out with several lemon drops. "Gentlemen?" Both declined his offer politely and the old wizard shrugged. "Ah, well. More for me then." But he returned the sweets to their pocket instead. "Any luck yourself, professor?"

"Takashi, please," the Shinigami murmured, distracted by an odd, niggling feeling at the back of his mind. It was somewhat akin to the feel of his life mate's calling, but not that exactly. "Saves time. And no, I didn't find. . .anything. . ." he trailed off.

He was vaguely aware of the werewolf saying something in a concerned tone, but to the Headmaster rather than himself. Takashi shook himself out of the sudden reverie at the sudden, sharp intake of breath from Dumbledore.

Takashi turned quickly, just barely stopping himself from dropping into a fighting stance. "Sir?"

Dumbledore was looking around, his wand appearing in his hand. The bushy eyebrows were drawn together in a fierce frown and he said, "The castle's wards have been activated again." And not a moment later, the banshee wailing of the alarm shrieked throughout the castle. The three men winced in concert.

"Can you tell where it is?" Lupin shouted over the wailing as the three of them broke into a run, led by Dumbledore.

Dumbledore's long silver hair flew side to side. "No! The wards are confused! But it's somewhere in the lower levels!"

As they were clattering down one obliging stair, the castle heeding the Headmaster's distress, a dark shape flew out from a passage to their left, hurtling straight towards Takashi. Both wizards were ready to curse the thing out of the air when Takashi stopped them, shouting, "Don't! It's from Kyo!"

The dark shape alighted on Takashi's arm, held out ingreeting and it turned out to be a pure black raven, different than any common species by the clear light of intelligence in its eyes. The bird raked one beady eye over the wizards, dismissed them in turn, and cawed once, sharp and urgent to Takashi.

The Japanese cursed, once. "It's heading for the Slytherins!" Without waiting to see if the other two followed him, Takashi bounded down the stairs, the raven taking flight and following him silently. Behind him, the two wizards exchanged looks before running after him.

* * *

Cold dread, rivalling the worst that he had ever experienced in the Dark Lord's presence, was sapping Snape's will to resist. A growing lassitude promised that he could finally _rest_, that all he need do was to surrender. It would feel so good to finally be able to rest. . . Sudden alarm, native to his suspicious nature, jerked the wizard awake. Frantic, his wand leaping to hand, he was on his feet and running before he had processed the source of the threat. When he finally did, terror froze him to the marrow in his bones; someone, or some thing, was inside the wards he had set on his House.

Snape was well aware that as a Legilimancer he would never be Voldemort's equal. But there were few who could surpass the desperate strength of his shields. They snapped into place, buying him a few seconds' much needed respite, giving him a chance to gather his wits. A life spent on the alert for ambushes of one sort or another had honed his instincts, but he hardly needed them to follow the pandemonium flooding from the Slytherin common room. It was a matter of a few long strides to pass from his own quarters to those of his students.

A child's screams, high pitched in unreasoning fear, cut across the shrieks and wailing of the panicked students. Snape swore, shoving through the rushing tide of smaller bodies that for once when he truly needed it, refused to part before him. He skidded as he rounded the corner to the hallway leading to the sixth year boys' dormitory, following the rising, hysterical cries.

But nothing could have prepared him for the sight that greeted him when he finally reached the door. Drawn by the maddening sound, Snape's sharp eyes snapped to the farthest corner where one of the boys – one of _his_ Slytherins – was cowering. Malfoy. His heart sank even as sour bile rose in his throat. That head of near-white hair was unmistakable, partially concealed though it was as the boy scrabbled to disappear into the stone walls. But then a movement, half seen out of the corner of his eye, arrested the Potions Master's attention. Oh. Holy Merlin's _balls_! That sticky, pallid light that oozed up from the very flagstones. . .A ghost. And _not_ a nice one, at that.

Now that he was aware of the thing and could bring himself to focus on it, it slowly solidified, taking on a humanoid form. And as it did so, the sense of dread and gnawing cold grew until Snape was sure that his breath would hang in frozen clouds in the air. If the thing felt so horrible to him, protected as he was by his skill as an Occlumancer, what must it be like for Draco? A harsh, keening sob rose from the corner, warning him that the boy was near the breaking point already. Yet, to the older wizard's immense surprise, Malfoy was pushing himself up to stand, clutching the wall as his legs threatened to give way. In his dark outfit of silk shirt and trousers, he looked a child playing grown up, deceptively frail despite having grown considerably in the past year, but still Draco was turning to face the swirling mist.

"Mama?" His voice was heartbreakingly young. "Mama, stop. . .Y-you c-can't do this. You'll be damned for all eternity. P-please- " Staggering, the dishevelled boy pushed away from the wall's support, reaching out for the apparition.

"No!" A distant part of Snape's mind was surprised by the roar, but he was already throwing himself furiously between the son and what he obviously perceived as his mother. His greater mass sent the youth sprawling to the floor, and then Snape was standing over him, wand outstretched in a hand that shook with the violence of his fear and hatred. "_Diripio!_" Brilliant flames, cold blue-white, burst from the end of his wand, its backwash splattering from solid stone and licking over the green draperies of the canopied beds. Blinded by the afterimage, Snape fumbled behind him, grasping after Draco's shoulder and murmuring "_Tego_," to set a protection charm on him. He was intent on getting the boy to safety because he knew, with a heavy sinking in his gut, that the rending spell was not enough.

The apparition shivered, its form momentarily dimming like the moon obscured by a thin veil of clouds. The spell had failed to tear it to shreds. Failed even to do more than discomfort the thing, as it sharpened into focus and an overwhelming rage was targeted on the wizard. Snape was distantly aware of Draco stumbling to his feet again, straightening as the courage of his breeding forced him erect.

"Mother!" The boy's voice cracked, then steadied with authority. The Malfoy heir, indeed. Snape snorted, amused in spite of the inherent horror of the situation. "Stop, Mother. What you're doing is wrong."

A fetid stench was rising, filling the dormitory with the cold, decaying breath of a swamp. Every ounce of light and warmth was being drawn in toward that semi-fluid, white form, rendering it more and more solid. Its form became slender and feminine. Its swaying movements became a seductive undulation. The nebulous cloud of its head developed high cheekbones, a delicate straight nose, and large, tilted eyes. Translucent hair fell in wavy masses that were more disturbing than it was beautiful; Medusa's snakes hidden behind illusion. It was unmistakably, irredeemably, Lady Narcissa Malfoy.

Snape felt his mouth go dry. Had the ghost assumed that form in response to Draco. . .? No. It couldn't really be Narcissa. But some deep place in his soul recognized that it was, in truth, _her_. And that she had come for her son.

Anger began a slow burn through Snape's veins. He had not engaged in this long, slow courtship, this attempt to woo Draco away from the Darkness only to have it spoiled by a chance encounter with a ghost! No, while Lucius was safely out of the way in Azkaban, Snape intended to do everything in his power to divert the son from the path to damnation, to save the boy from himself and from his wretched family. And he knew that he had been making progress. Without this kind of interference, Draco would likely be the first Malfoy in generations to _not_ fall, and Snape was not about to give up that chance now. The older wizard's lips drew back, baring his teeth in a smile sharp with malice, even as his eyes narrowed dangerously. Narcissa could not risk touching the barrier that he had raised between her and her son, and while she was held at bay, he was going to destroy her. Snape raised his wand, and shifted into the loose stance of a duelist.

In a pre-emptive strike, a tendril of ectoplasm lashed out, licking across the back of his wand hand. Searing cold burned into his flesh, and Snape very nearly dropped his wand as his paralyzed fingers jerked involuntarily. Grimly, he transferred the length of black walnutto his off hand, backing away until he felt the calf of his leg bump against something solid – the corner of the trunk at the foot of Draco's bed.

The thing was staring at the child, devouring him whole with crazed milk-white eyes. It – _she_ – had forgotten that the older wizard was there. Narcissa took a long, gliding step toward the boy who stood with his shoulders pressed to the wall. Her hands reached out, the ectoplasm thinning into pale streamers from her fingertips, passing through the warded protection as if it were insubstantial. When one brushed against Draco's chest, he whimpered and tried to curl away.

"No. . ." growled Snape. A liberating heat was coming from somewhere low in his chest, from a place that was growing painfully tight. "Get your hands off of him, bitch." The apparition gave no sign of hearing him. The whimpers became a harsh, panting wail. The Potions Master swore nastily, raised his wand left-handed, and shouted, "_Vade Phasmata!_"

All the fury within him transmuted the minor "get thee hence" charm into a powerful banishment. It cracked like thunder in the confined space of the room, tearing down the drapes around the beds and hurling all the debris of a dormitory filled with boys to the room's far corners. The set stones of the dungeon walls shifted, setting free a cloud of dust and mortar to float in the air like a smoke, an illusion supported by the sharp scent of ozone. Narcissa's ghost floundered in mid-air, her ephemeral form shredding, as pain and astonishment opened her blind eyes wide. For the first time since the ordeal had begun, a near human cry was wrung from her. Then she vanished in a flash of light.

"Mama! Don't leave me!" It came out in a broken wail, followed by the thump of Draco's knees striking the floor. Flooded by a sudden, mirroring pain, Snape stumbled, and sat down heavily on the trunk behind him. It was over; Narcissa was gone. Forever. He closed his eyes.

* * *

The sudden, unexpected knock at the portrait, after the equally sudden silence of the alarm, startled the students; a few succumbing to shrieks of surprise and immediately earned a glare from their Head of House. Kyo was already striding towards the portrait hole, even before the knock sounded and he pushed it open before McGonagall could say anything. The spell that sealed the entrance shut shattered in a flood of blue sparks, revealing the wayward Gryffindor and a slightly abashed looking professor.

"Kurosaki!"

Kyo ignored McGonagall's sharp exclamation, focusing instead on Tsuzuki. The other Shinigami narrowed his eyes, taking in Kyo's tense stance and the fact that the students, huddled together in tight clumps, all bore the unmistakable traces of Kyo's signature magic.

But before he could say anything, Kyo was already speaking rapidly, voice low and eyes snapping with furious anger. "It attacked the Slytherins earlier. Takashi needs you down there to help set wards."

With just the widening of purple eyes betrayinghis surprise, Tsuzuki was already taking off down the hallway, his long legs carrying him quickly out of sight. Hisoka was still waiting before the entrance and Kyo stepped back, allowing the blond room to enter. The portrait fell shut with a spell-laced click, Hisoka barely taking in the curiosity levelled at him from the Gryffindors before Kyo stepped up to him, snarling low enough so that no one else could hear, "What the hell took you so long?! Takashi has been trying to reach you for hours!"

Hisoka pressed his lips together tightly, trying to control the anger that flared at being talked to in that way. He was just about to snap back his own retort when he noticed the minute tremors that shook Kyo's frame and the dilated pupils.

"Backlash?" he said quietly instead.

Kyo's teeth clicked together audibly, a muscle twitching in his cheek. "Oh? So is _that _what it takes to get you to talk to me?"

His earlier concern faded under his own growing anger and he took a step back, hands balling into fists by his side. The two best friends stared silently at each other, both longing to strike out with words but forcibly holding them back. It was Hisoka who broke the silence first.

"I'll do the wards for the north and south. You do west and east."

* * *

"Are you certain that it was Lady Malfoy?"

"Yes," Snape snarled wearily. Of course Dumbledore and all the rest had come tumbling into the Slytherin dormitories when it was all over. And, just as it would have been too much to expect them to turn up in time to be of any use while the ghost was actually present, now it was more than he could hope for that they would all take the hint and depart. He was stuck sitting with the Headmaster in his cramped sitting room, while the Japanese professor, Matsumada, and the damned werewolf, had taken charge of the children who ought, by rights, be under Snape's protection. He couldn't fathom _why_; Narcissa was gone. He had driven her to her destruction himself. But he supposed that it made the two cretins feel _useful_, and Merlin forbid that he should interfere with _that_. On some level, Snape realized that exhaustion was making him irrational, but while it lasted, he intended to indulge the feeling. All too soon, the Headmaster's insistence that he drink a Pepper-Up potion would force him to behave like a responsible adult. It was a poor consolation, he thought irritably, that _his_ formulation of the potion didn't cause one's hair to smoke.

"Severus?" A gnarled hand entered his field of vision, gripping his chin and tilting his head up. Snape jerked his head free from that concerned grasp before he could be snared by the older wizard's kind blue eyes. Dumbledore let him go.

"It was her, beyond any shadow of reasonable doubt," he snapped. The lean hand that he scrubbed over his face trembled with fatigue, and Snape allowed it to drop into his lap. A dark burn was clearly visible across the back of his knuckles. He stared at it, confused, for a long moment, then continued in a distracted tone. "I cannot guess how she came to be here. But yes, it was she." Under the dull, formal cadence of the words, some emotion was struggling to free itself.

Albus Dumbledore was not at all surprised when the dour wizard crushed it. Snape's eyes, when they rose from his lap, were clear and coldly steady. "Indeed." the Headmaster murmured. It hardly seemed an opportune time to suggest that Lady Malfoy had perhaps only been driven off, and not destroyed."Well, then. The question then becomes how she got in here, and why."

"Hmph," the Potions Master grunted, frowning fiercely. He leaned back in his chair and resisted the temptation to hurl any of the books stacked on his side table. Against his will, his agile mind began turning over the problem, until finally he said, "I should think a more useful line of inquiry would be 'Why is she a ghost?' Narcissa Malfoy was very much alive when she flooed me a week ago to complain over Draco's exam scores. But then, perhaps that outrage was the cause of her sudden demise."

"Scores?" Dumbledore was politely bewildered. He failed to see how the one led to the other, even if the younger man was being a trifle overdramatic.

"Yes." Snape's thin lips twitched into an unpleasant smile. "Narcissa was offended that a 'Mudblood' could do better than a Malfoy. She all but accused Miss Granger of cheating on my last exam. Our discussion became. . .heated." He shifted in the chair, ignoring the discomfort of its hard cushions. Briefly, he considered conjuring a full tea tray from the kitchens, but that would smack of the Headmaster's predilections, no matter that he would kill for a strong cup just then. Perhaps he ought to simply take the damned potion, and be rid of his weariness. He might have to in self-defense if the older wizard persisted in his politely befuddled questioning.

And perhaps Dumbledore had added mind-reading to his list of skills, for he dropped the senile air and frowned. "I do not understand what she hoped to accomplish by this. The magical connection between a parent and child is a potent one; it permitted her to pass through the wards of the castle in order to reach him. But I simply do not see _why_. Why would she place her only son at such risk?"

"Narcissa Malfoy was hardly what I would consider a model parent," Snape observed sourly. "Yet, she was Draco's mother. No child deserves to see one that he loves reduced to. . .to _that_." A delicate shudder passed through his lean frame. No, Draco had certainly _not_ deserved to see his mother turned into a mindless thing of the Dark, so intent on feeding its hunger that the blood-bond between a parent and child had been perverted to such a degree. That she would have consumed him through some bizarrely twisted maternal instinct was certain. It was only by a miracle that her son had survived the encounter. Even so, it might well be days before his mind recovered sufficiently to allow him to awaken. The Potions Master sighed, and spoke with greater conviction than he felt. "Mr. Malfoy will, however, be fine."

"Perhaps." Dumbledore's answering sigh was deep with weariness. He removed his spectacles, pinching the bridge of his nose. It always seemed to ache just at the point where it had been broken when he had to face difficulties like these. "And you, my boy?"

"I?" Nonplussed, the darker wizard blinked. "And why should I not be fine? I was well-shielded, Headmaster."

"That is not what I was referring to, Severus," he chided gently. But, as he expected, the younger man's expression grew shuttered, and he rose to leave with a forbidding expression. After the door to his bedchamber had slammed, Dumbledore allowed the sorrow that he felt to flood his features. Perhaps it had only been a rumor, and not true, but he remembered very well hearing that young Severus's father had made an offer on his son's behalf for the prettiest of the Black daughters. And he also remembered the look of shock on a boy's face when he had been warned off in no uncertain terms by a mocking youth with silver blond hair.

* * *

Harry shifted unhappily,the stone floor a poor substitute for a comfy sofa. They had been sitting here like this for what seemed like hours and he longed for some hot cocoa or even a goblet of pumpkin juice. Ron's stomach had long ceased growling, resigned to the inevitability of a late dinner. His best mate sighed forlornly, wiggling a bit until he was in a more comfortable position, heand Harry leaning back to back against each other. Ginny was by Harry's left, fingers intertwined and Hermione was by his right. Ginny was dozing lightly, head on his shoulder and long auburn curls cascading down the front of Harry's jumper. The young wizard idly woundone red lockaround his fingers, while Hermione scribbled frantically on a piece of parchment. It had not come as a surprise to Harry or Ron that the girl carried around spare parchment and aquill in her pockets.

Hermione had immediately started writing when Kyo and Hisoka got to work with the wards around the Tower, copying down, with some difficulty, the symbols that flared into life under their hands, their magic acting as ink and quill. Both Kyo and Hisoka were working on opposite sides of the room; from necessity or choice, Harry was loath to guess. The glare they had exchanged earlier made just the fact that the two of them were willing to work together enough of a surprise. He kept on expecting one of them to flounce out of the room in a huff. _Though I doubt that Hisoka 'flounces', _Harry thought inwardly with a smile.

"Isn't it fascinating?" Hermione murmured even as she kept on her copying.

"What?" Harry asked, careful to not disturb Ginny or the low chanting of the two omnyouji. Most of the students were watching avidly as well, caught in the hypnotic rhythm and chant of the foreign spell unfolding around them. McGonagall was likewise entranced, though she kept a firm hold on her wand.

"The spell they're doing," Hermione gestured briefly with the end of her quill, "The structure seems to follow a certain form, closest to the wards Takashi taught us a few weeks back. But the words are all different. . .more. . ." she chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully.

"More powerful?" Harry suggested.

Hermione nodded decisively. "Yes, more powerful. But what's even more amazing is that I think they're doing it spontaneously."

Harry frowned. What Hermione seemed to be suggesting contradicted everything that he had learned in Hogwarts, since Flitwick hadcautioned them that a misplaced syllable had a simple _wingardium leviosa _wreaking havoc on a poor wizard named Baruffio. "Can you do that?" he asked. "I thought all spells have to follow a set form. You can't change a spell around any which way you please, because then you can't predict the results."

"Exactly!" Hermione said excitedly, forgetting the copying as she turned to Harry, eyes filled with enthusiasm. "Imag—"

A shrill, high-pitched squealing followed by a resounding _crack!_halted Hermione in mid-sentence. The air rippled, twisting with a surge of power that sent Hisoka flying backwards to land gracelessly on the floor. The entire common room seemed to be caught in a sudden stasis, as though none could believe what just happened, that some unseen force had just flattened the competent Japanese. Their paralysis broke when Kyo hurried over to the blond's side, followed by McGonagall.

"Everyone stay put!" the stern witch commandedcatching the anxious students before any of them could abandon the safety of their wards. "Don't anybody dare move!" She was fussing over the young omnyouji who appeared to be too dazed to protest. Though Kyo alsocrouched by his side, the older boy still ran a wary eye aroundthe room, an ofuda appearing in his hand instinctively.

"Professor," he said in a low voice. "Leave Hisoka to me. Get to the students and stay with them. He'll be fine." The Transfigurations Mistress took one look at Kyo's face and hastilywent back to sit by her charges without complaint. Her ready compliance was more effective than any threat to get the Gryffindors to heed the Japanese who were obviously taking charge. The students huddled closer together to their Head of House, chicks seeking protection.

Harry made an abortive attempt to catch his friend's eye, but Kyo's watchful gaze slipped past as if he weren't aware of his dorm mates at all. Tension had thinned down the onmyouji's fine features, leaving him coiled with a suppressed energy, just waiting for the right trigger to lash out at an opponent.

A groan snapped Kyo's focused regard back to his smaller companion. Hisoka was trying to sit up, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated until Kyo slipped an arm loosely around his shoulders, never ceasing his cautious survey of the common room. Time drew out unbearably; picking at his tautly strung nerves__

"Kyo. . ." Hisoka managed to kneel, the heel of one hand pressed against his eyes. "It broke through my wards."

"Aa," Kyo, though sounding beyond grim, stole a quick yet concerned look at Hisoka. "Are you alright?" All traces of their earlier spat wereforgotten for the moment. Urgency gripped him. He didn't need the empath's words to tell him that the intruder had breached their safeguards; an unseen presence made his skin prickle. But, it was hard to fight what he couldn't find, and just then, he was blind. Kyo's arm tightened briefly around the narrow shoulders within its circle, both seeking and offering reassurance.

The blond grunted. "Yeah. Just. . .it's here.It's being driven by hunger. . .and hate." Abruptly, his head snapped up and he shrugged off Kyo's touch. They separated, each readying offensive and defensive talismans as they half-crouched warily, attention riveted on one dark corner of the room, near to the girls' staircase where the shadows pooled together. Harry and basically every Gryffindor in the room, including a now wide-awake Ginny, looked as well.

There was someone there.

The common room was lit with cheery globes and the roaring fire was giving out a warm glow. Yet at that moment, even though logically Harry _knew _that the fire didn't die down, the shadows deepened. Shadows that writhed out from the feet of that coalescingfigure. A wave of cold that had nothing to do with a Dementor but came from your gut instincts telling you to _run_, washed over them and the Gryffindors shuddered and drew closer together.

The figure swayed dreamily from side to side where it stood but there was neither grace nor beauty in its movement. There was something repellent in the way it moved and now that it had taken a step out of its corner, Harry could see that _it _was a woman. Or a parody of a woman.

Long, wavy hair fell past her waist, obscuring her face. Even in the darkness of its corner, the hair gleamed with a sickly light, snakes of pale luminosity that writhed with a life of its own. She was still swaying and the shadows lengthened, growing thicker, more viscous, reaching out for them. Dennis gave a tremulous squeak.

Her arms were hanging slack by her side. The tatty, off-white dress she wore was a further indication of her sex despite her head bowed low and the shoulders hunched in. Harry knew with a deep-seated certainty that he did _not _want to see her face.

As though she heard his thoughts, the head, even as she swayed, was raised. Harry blinked rapidly; for a moment, haze filled his vision and he saw the visage of a beautiful woman, aristocracy and high breeding evident in the high cheekbones and slanted eyes. The young wizard's heart thudded painfully in his chest. He knew that face. It was Narcissa Malfoy.

But then his eyes cleared; the image of the haughty lady disappeared, blown away like so much fine mist and the starker reality of the. . .thing before them superimposed itself once more. The long curtain of hair fell back to reveal the pasty, blue-white skin of a corpse, the veins a stark deeper blue. The eyes were milky pits that gleamed with non-light and the mouth, a gaping 'O' that sucked in air and warmth. The once beautiful Lady Malfoy looked like someone had dipped her corpse in acids to leach away all traces of her beauty.

She made a deep, rattling noise in her throat, like the sound of a rattlesnake twisted out of tune.

She moaned. "Har. . . . .r. . . . .reee. . . ."

It wasn't Harry alone that screamed.

* * *

**to be continued**

* * *


	28. Chapter 28: And into the fire

**Title:** When Death Comes a'Knocking: Book 1 – Of Revelations  
  
**Plot Mistresses:** Shiozaki, Shaynie, Librarycat, Literary Eagle  
  
**Spell Researchers:** Fellow wizards, witches & omnyouji at my Yahoo!Group  
  
**Scene Masters:** Shiozaki and Librarycat  
  
**Beta-d by:** Librarycat  
****

**Review replies:  
**  
**Tenshiamanda, Joonie, Yanagi-sen, Nekoki Yakkai, DK-Adeena:** Ah, the more consistent reviewers. . .(sniff) Miffed, I am, by the others lacklustre response. Ah well. I am in it for the joy of writing, no? Thank you for the ego-stroking . We'll see more of Narcissa, no worries.  
  
**Hitomibishop:** Ah, you remembered Voldie's little line about 'preparing her'! Or at least, the only one who bothered to mention it. (grin.) Not exactly **The Ring**, but very much **Ju-On**, all three of them! I'm a big fan of the movies. I've seen the prequel, what, 3 times already? And I still refuse to look when she comes out!

* * *

** Chapter 28  
. . .And into the fire**

* * *

Propelled by the icy mist that shrouded its bottom half, the ghost glided towards Harry's group, hands outstretched hungrily for the boy that cowered in fear under the incandescent shield. The once perfectly manicured nails were jagged sharp weapons, no matter that she was insubstantial, and her hands were clawed in, scrabbling and jabbing the air as she slid and slithered closer, ignoring the two omnyouji behind her.  
  
_"Laksmir jagat trayam pati samharta ca mahesvarah pathanad dharanad deva babhuvus ca digisvarah!"  
_  
Each syllable of the prayer was chanted in perfect unison, the cadence rising and falling in a compelling double harmony. Like mirror images, Kyo and Hisoka crouched in identical poses opposite each other, hands clasped and fingers forming a complex interlocking figure. The ofuda they each held glowed brightly and impossibly, grew longer in a sudden snap, waving tentacles of paper that seemed to taste the air before lunging towards the ghost.  
  
The paper chains twisted around her arms and the two omnyouji pulled back, hard. A sudden shriek and the former Lady Malfoy stumbled, her form solidifying under the assault. Kyo gave another hard yank at the 'fuda chain and the onryo fell in his direction, her long hair whipping agitatedly as she spun around, falling on her hands and knees and glaring dark murder at him.  
  
"Hisoka!" Kyo shouted, not once taking his eyes off of her. "I'll distract, you do the banishing!"  
  
The blond empath didn't bother with any confirmation but immediately let go of his 'fuda, the talisman slithering with a mind of its own to wrap itself snugly around the onryo's arm. She wailed, clawing desperately, trying to tear the paper off but Kyo wasn't about to give her the chance to. Wrapping his end of the 'fuda securely around his right fist, his left hand jerked viciously back and the onryo found herself dragged closer to him. Another prayer made the talisman he held grow longer and Kyo darted close to the onryo, the paper dancing to a complicated tune as he tucked and rolled, winding more and more of the 'fuda around the increasingly solidified ghost. With every inch of the blessed paper covering her, the former Lady appeared heavier, as though becoming more real than anything else in the room. Real enough that as Kyo had to tuck into a roll while still holding on to his end of the 'fuda, her claws scored deep into his shoulder. A strangled yelp and Kyo fell out of his roll gracelessly even though there was no visible wound on him.  
  
Harry gasped in fear, watching dumbly all this while as he and Ron manfully tried to shield the girls behind them, even under the kekkai. He unthinkingly got to his feet, determined to help but Hisoka was faster.  
  
_"Harry! Don't you dare! Stay back!"_ The command laced heavily with the blond's empathy pushed the young wizard back down with invisible hands, Harry wheezing slightly under the pressure. Hisoka threw him a black glare and spun back, hands rapidly forming more of those interlocked figures, the chanting increasing in pace.  
  
_"Brahma mantra myam—" _A solid white tendril of the ghost's ectoplasm lashed out, cutting across Hisoka's chest and the Japanese's prayer was cut off. He fell to his knees, coughing and hacking and more of vengeful tentacles whipped the air, visibly crackling with fury. Kyo, trying to get to his knees, saw one stabbing down to Hisoka and with surprising speed, he managed to knock his young friend out of the way and the two of them crashed into the back of an armchair in a tangled heap.  
  
A loud banshee wail of triumph sliced through the common room and the onryo surged to its feet, ripping away the 'fuda chains exultantly. Her swaying became more pronounced, a decidedly victorious rhythm evident and she turned sightless eyes upon Harry once more.  
  
_"My son. . ."_ she rasped, falling to her knees and slithering too fast for someone who was crawling on the floor.  
  
Hermione, Ron, Ginny and Neville had readied their wands the instant Kyo and Hisoka were out for the count, ready to defend their friend. Harry's was clutched in a loose grip, staring in horrified fascination as the mother of his former enemy reached out for him, mere inches from the boundary of the kekkai. He didn't know whether to feel disgusted or sorry underneath all the fear for the obvious torment the former Lady Malfoy was going through. He could hear the hunger for release, for salvation, for a son she could not have in each keening cry, in the rise and fall of her shoulders as she crawled snakelike towards him.  
  
_"My son . . .give me back my son!"_

* * *

The entire Slytherin House was gathered together in their low-ceilinged common room, the fire bright, blazing and incongruously cheerful in contrast to the solemn white faces. Everyone, from first up to the seventh year, save for Draco Malfoy who was under heavy wards in the Hospital wing, were grouped together in one big clump. For tonight, all rivalry and associations were abandoned as they united together under one common theme: fear.  
  
Under Takashi and Tsuzuki's orders, the Slytherins got into the purple squashed sleeping bags conjured by the Headmaster earlier, none speaking even in a whisper. Dark, watchful eyes made careful study of the two Japanese professors as they paced the length and breadth of their common room, steps slow and steady. Takashi and Tsuzuki were working on opposite sides, their voices singing the prayers of protection in harmony, their hands scribing the spells upon the very stone. They were only halfway through when both faltered at the same instant.  
  
"Tsuzuki?" Takashi froze in mid-spell, eyes locked on his colleague.  
  
Tsuzuki stared off into space, purple eyes gone blank as though listening to something only he could hear.  
  
"They're under attack," he said abruptly, turning around to face Takashi and the spell unfolding under his fingertips sizzled away.  
  
The children of the Snake House were between them, silent spectators as they each battled with indecision. A long moment passed with a single, loaded look between the two Japanese. Takashi was the first to resume his spell casting, his voice as tightly controlled as the foreign symbols that sank soundlessly into the very walls.  
  
"The sooner we finish this, the faster we can help them."

* * *

She reared back and her jagged nails cut across the surface of the kekkai, sparks flying under the assault. An audible screech grated in their ears and the children flinched. Ginny was the first to recover and she cried out, _"Expecto Patronum!"_  
  
A heavy mist burst out of the end of her wand, striking the onryo full in the face and she faltered in her attack, cowering and shielding her face with pasty white hands. A low, piteous moan erupted from her, her body twisting in an erratic rhythm. Emboldened by Ginny's apparent success, more voices joined in; the former members of the DA remembering last year's tutoring.  
  
They were jubilant and giddy with relief as they each shouted _"Expecto Patronum!"_ and various half-formed shapes mixed with the heavy mist of incorporeal Patronus suffocated the onryo. Harry's stag was a noticeable absence, his green eyes strangely blank as he watched the Patroni try to smother the ghost.  
  
"Yeah!" Ron shouted. "Take that, you bitch!"  
  
The onryo's gibberish moaning died suddenly. The Gryffindors exchanged nervous looks; their Patroni had disappeared, leaving the onryo a slumped figure on her knees even as Kyo and Hisoka fought to get to their feet behind her.  
  
"Don't—" Hisoka coughed, hand extended out. "That spell—"  
  
Seamus raised his wand again. "Expecto Pa—"  
  
"No!"  
  
Her head snapped up and no one could break away from the fixed gaze of the milky white eyes that burned with rage. Lady Malfoy surged to her feet, arms reaching out above and the roiling mist that surrounded her solidified again into vicious lashing tentacles, throwing the two Japanese back.  
  
Her scream silenced them and none could move, even when their kekkai cracked and splintered into a thousand pieces.

* * *

Dumbledore and Lupin stumbled into a scene of utter mayhem in the Gryffindor common room. The two wizards tried to take in everything that was going on all at once; children were screaming, running up the boys' staircase while others vainly tried to conquer their own need to flee. McGonagall was lying prone on the floor, Hermione and Ginny by her side as they wove a shield around their Head of House. Ron and Neville flanked Harry who was watching it all with fearfully blank eyes. But what finally caught the wizards' attention was the fact that the former Lady Malfoy had both feet planted on the opposite wall, sticking to it like a spider, one hand around Shiozaki's throat and the other wrist-deep in his chest.  
  
Lupin inhaled sharply, amber eyes widening. No blood was flowing out of the boy's chest but he was on obvious pain as he bucked and twisted, trying to push the onryo off to no avail. Kurosaki tried to get to him but he was held down by the onryo's essence; icy tendrils that clung to him and hindered his movements. Belatedly remembering his role as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Lupin frantically searched his memories for his strongest spell to banish evil spirits. But before he could even mouth the words, Dumbledore was already moving, striding confidently into the room, his wand sketching a bright rune in the air.  
  
His voice thundered and echoed around the tower; power suffusing each word. _"Eagle's claws are strong, Dragon's teeth are long, Arnhofdhi guards the way, Sigfadhir wins the day!"_ With the last syllable, Dumbledore pushed his hand palm out through the still burning rune. A sharp gust of wind blew his long silver beard and hair back, the old wizard standing tall and proud. The rune dissolved into a stream of bright fire, lassoing the onryo in coils of magic.  
  
The was an audible pause as everyone stood stock-still, waiting breathlessly. Even Shiozaki ceased his struggles, panting in soft gasps. The onryo did not move, seemingly caught in the spell's net. Confident, Dumbledore reached out with his wand but the instant he did so, his spell shattered into so many sparkles and unbelievably, the onryo laughed.  
  
A howl of mirth that made them shudder and the once-beautiful woman twisted the hand still in Shiozaki's chest. The boy cried out sharply, legs going rigid with pain and his back bowed in a tight arch.  
  
"Headmaster!"  
  
The urgent cry broke Dumbledore out of his stupefied shock. Kurosaki was the one who called out to him, still enmeshed in the web of ectoplasm. Lupin hurried over, trying to hack through the mass with the glowing tip of his wand with little success. "Headmaster!" Kurosaki called out again, face tight with concentration as he fought back the choking hold he was trapped in. "I need my sword! Now!"  
  
"Can it help?" Dumbledore asked even as he again tried the earlier banishing spell, tracing the rune once more.  
  
"It was dedicated to a temple! What do you think?!"  
  
Ignoring the blatant sarcasm of the youngest Japanese, clearly evident even in the middle of a fight, Dumbledore let got of his rune, letting it dissolve. He snapped his fingers, using his tie with the castle and the house elves to summon the confiscated blade from his office. The katana appeared in his hand with a satisfying chink and the reassuring weight of steel. Without further ceremony, he threw the sword at Kurosaki and sure enough, the boy easily snatched it out of the air. A sharp twist of his wrist and the blade sang free of its sheath, gleaming colder than the onryo's ectoplasm. Lupin jumped aside and Kurosaki slashed through tentacles that held him, dissolving them easily. As he crouched, taking careful aim of the onryo which still held Shiozaki in her grip, the portrait hole swung open again and the other two Japanese stumbled in, chests heaving with exertion.  
  
"Kyo!" Takashi shouted, eyes instantly fixed on his life mate.  
  
"Wait!" Takashi tried to run to the boy but Tsuzuki caught him by the arm, pulling back and pointing to Kurosaki. "He's going to take care of it!"  
  
Kurosaki crouched lower and faster than the eye could follow, sprang up and forward, blade held at the ready. He slashed once, a horizontal cut that slid through the onryo's neck. She stiffened, from her free-flowing hair right down to the writhing mass of her essence that trailed from her like so much ethereal blood.  
  
_"My. . ."_  
  
There was a blinding flash, originating from the onryo and a soundless detonation rocked the tower. The castle groaned in complaint, mortar and dust shifting free to rain down on them and the Headmaster could have sworn that the old castle moved ever so slightly from its foundation. He could hear the dull clang of steel striking the floor and he blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to clear them of afterimages and stinging dust.  
  
There was a moment of uncertainty as everyone waited with bated breath for. . .something to happen. But nothing did. Slowly, with the aid of spells from the quick thinking ones, the air was cleared of dust, revealing the survivors of the attack looking decidedly forlorn, covered in dirt and grime.  
  
"She's gone," Ron was the first to break the silence, a slow triumphant grin creasing his face. "We did it! She's gone!"  
  
The Gryffindors let out whoops of excitement, hugging friends in relief and exchanging back-thumping claps. McGonagall was revived with the help of Lupin's _enervate _and she got to her feet unsteadily, tartan plaid hat askew.  
  
But there were four people who were not joining in the general relief and near-hysterical glee. Harry, Dumbledore, Tsuzuki and Takashi gathered slowly where the onryo was, at the wall where the tapestry that depicted the Great Battle of 1412 had hung last. The tapestry now lay in shredded ruins on the floor, a testament to the fight Shiozaki had put up. And lying on the bed of torn weaving and dulled threads, was a finely made seventeenth century Japanese sword.  
  
"They're gone."  
  
Harry's flat announcement cut through the babble of excited voices. The hush that fell then was sudden and almost painful to the ears.  
  
"Kyo and Hisoka. . . .they're gone."

* * *

There was something intrinsically poetic to having that slender instrument of a bygone era, when honor was a tangible concept, presented on the shredded ruins of red velvet. Velvet; for the privileged status of a warrior, red; the color of blood. Harry could imagine a battle-scarred samurai, limping in from the fields of war to be presented with the spoils of his enemy. The shadowy samurai would accept the burden of steel with a bowed head; respect and homage to a worthy foe.  
  
But what to do when the victor becomes the vanquished as well?  
  
"This isn't right," Harry said numbly, and at his words ripples of icy silence washed over the gathered crowd. They were all staring down at the sword as though it could explain to them just what had happened to the master that had wielded it so bravely not a few moments ago. Where was the samurai who was supposed to accept his laurels?  
  
Someone dared to disturb further the agitated waters; someone dark and brimming with black fury who stalked into the room in a flurry of heavy robes. Harry looked up to meet the eyes of the Potions Master.  
  
"This isn't right," he said again. Why couldn't they understand him? Why couldn't he make them understand? This wasn't supposed to happen. Not again.  
  
"What in the blazes are you talking about, boy?" the dark man snapped irritably. Some cowered, flinching back at his harsh tone and Harry wanted to laugh. He wanted to giggle; how, in the holy name of Merlin could they still find this embittered man so frightening after what they'd seen just now?  
  
Harry caught the man's eyes again. He had to make them understand.  
  
"He used her love for him. For her son. It doesn't matter how she loves him. Just that she does." He swayed, pushed aside the hands that tried to help him. "No!" Spinning around, he met Takashi's carefully blank gaze, even went so far as to grip the front of the professor's robes and shaking the man lightly. "It wasn't supposed to be them!" he cried out. "Don't you understand that?!"  
  
"Harry."  
  
Gentle hands caught his shoulders, pulling him back and turning him around to face wise old eyes that looked inexplicably sad. Those hands, wrinkled and paper-dry with age, cupped his face, cool against his skin.  
  
"What are you talking about Harry?"  
  
Those _damnable _blue eyes.  
  
He felt his face pulling back in the rictus of a snarl, fangs bared and the old hands falling away in shock. "They got in the way! She came here for me! Not for her son! Not for Kyo or Hisoka, but for me!"  
  
Hands, so many hands. All reaching out for him. And a pair stained yellow at the fingertips, floating disembodied like pale spiders dancing on a thread trapped him. Forced him to still, trying to understand him. All that Harry knew was that the eyes weren't blue. Weren't old. Weren't _his_.  
  
"Don't you understand?" Harry asked, weak as a newborn baby. His knees buckled underneath him and strong arms swept him up in a cool embrace. Cinnamon, cloves and the brimstone tang of dried salamander skin spiced the growing darkness of his vision.  
  
Harry whispered to a bone-bleached face crowned by glittering eyes that saw through everything.  
  
"She messed up. She was supposed to kill me."  
  
"Harry." More hands. So many thrice dammed hands. This one was lightly tanned, long and tapering gracefully and were gentle, brushing his hair softly, a hint of vanilla and green grass to the spices that still enveloped him. "Who's this 'he'? Who sent the onryo, Harry?"  
  
Takashi. That name came to mind when he tried to place a face to the hands. Takashi, whose life mate was taken from him just because the Japanese got in the way. Harry tried to fight the growing lassitude that even then chased the names and faces away as quickly as they came. His limbs felt heavy, graceless, and he would have fallen in a heap if the one with eyes that penetrated the mist had let go.  
  
He forced numb lips to work, forced his clogged throat to shape the name that had haunted him since he was eleven years old.  
  
"Voldemort," he whispered.  
  
The name touched off a jolt of tension like sparks from a live wire. _But wizards don't know what electricity is, _Harry thought dazedly and he didn't protest when he was bundled into more familiar arms, more comfortable ones that spoke to him of long summer nights and a sweet lullaby.  
  
"Gentlemen, to my office. This is not the best place to discuss this further."  
  
Harry sank into the waiting darkness that suffocated him in a painless blanket, smothering his sight, numbing his flesh and as his hearing faded, he could hear a soft sigh.  
  
"Kyo."

* * *

"Headmaster, we have no time to coddle him needlessly!"  
  
Lupin looked back and forth, from the obviously tightly-wound Potions Master to the old wizard who listened with a troubled air. The gleam in those blue eyes had faded when Harry had hissed at him, his wide green eyes hinting red at the edges. But the Boy-Who-Lived now lay sleeping on the Headmaster's couch in his office, Fawkes standing a vigilant sentinel over the boy's head. Takashi and Tsuzuki, silent ever since they left the Gryffindor Tower, had retreated to a corner by the fireplace, each appearing lost in thoughts.  
  
Lupin shook his head, still rather bewildered at the alarming pace of events which had unfolded. The breach of the wards, the attack on the Malfoy heir, and subsequently, the one on Harry which ended up with two of their supposed allies kidnapped. Or worse.  
  
"Severus," Lupin said patiently when Dumbledore showed no signs of speaking. The venerable wizard was ensconced behind his desk, a cup of tea warming his hands. "Surely we can wait a night at least. Harry is in no shape to have his lessons now."  
  
Severus twisted in his seat, pinning the werewolf with that trademark glare which had never failed to make the recipient squirm, assuming said recipient wasn't Dumbledore. "You bloody _Gryffindors_." The way he twisted that name, as though it was the vilest of the vile, caused Lupin to flush. But he held that black gaze, challenging Snape right back.  
  
"The two Japanese, presuming that they're still alive," Snape continued, never breaking his lock on Lupin's own tawny eyes, "Are most likely in the hands of the Dark Lord. We heard the boy. This was obviously his doing. No one else could do a soul-binding on that scale. _Harry _will most assuredly need the protection of Occlumency if he does not want to be plagued with visions of his _friends_ in the hands of the Dark Lord."  
  
Lupin bit down on his lower lip, unable to deny that fact. This was war. And war begets casualties. That they had to add two young boys to the list seemed inordinately unfair. Even though he himself had been a child soldier in the Dark Lord's first reign, it was through choice. The Japanese were here through necessity. And look what necessity had gotten them. Sighing, he was the one to break off the staring match, to cede to the dark wizard. It would serve no good if he were to forget himself and be drawn into an argument with the man; it only had the potential to tear open old wounds and destroy what little rapport there was in their working relationship.  
  
A sigh. The gentle clink of a cup against its saucer preceded Dumbledore's weary words. "Very well, Severus. I have to trust your judgment on this."  
  
Snape nodded once, thankfully holding back the smirk Lupin knew he had. But any such inclination was gone from the sallow face when Dumbledore's tone took on a darker shade, dropping low to not escape their little circle.  
  
"But I warn you Severus; what happened last year cannot be repeated. You are his teacher. _Teach_. Not antagonise. For Harry is not his father."  
  
The Adam's apple, looking almost obscene in the pale throat visible above the high collar, buttoned robe bobbed once. His equally pale fingers clutched his chair's armrest, digging into the wood.  
  
"Yes, Headmaster," he grounded out.  
  
There was an uncomfortable moment, especially so for the Defense professor as he became an unwilling witness to the silent tableau. Of light against dark. Neither unwilling to back down and Lupin knew that he could not interfere, could not say anything for what was happening between these two men was something beyond his grasp. A past that he knew nothing of. His own caution and reluctance to be drawn into yet another potentially painful mess kept him silent.  
  
"Tea, Severus?"  
  
With hardly a tremor, Snape accepted his cup, face carefully blank. Lupin was scarcely surprised; the Potions Master was a master at Occlumency. There was a brief hotness of shame in the werewolf's chest at the realisation that that aspect of the unpleasant man probably would not have been marked different had the Dark Lord not existed. _If Severus can speak up about the need to protect James's son from his vision, can agree to put aside his animosities, then what does that say about me?_ Lupin thought sadly. _Was I so much of a Marauder that I would cling to my hatred, when even a Snape can move on?  
_  
Another weary sigh from Dumbledore brought Lupin's wandering attention back. The aged wizard got to his feet slowly, a tray of tea things following behind obediently. Snape and Lupin were obedient servants as well; they turned their chairs around, anticipating the next stage of the night's discussion. The two Japanese they had left were seated, still and silent, and the flickering fire in the hearth failed to give any sort of warmth to the motionless picture they made. Takashi was sitting with his elbows on his knees, his chin resting on his folded hands as he stared into the burning flames. Tsuzuki was leaning back in his own seat, the wingback chair throwing shadows over his face and his strange eyes.  
  
Dumbledore stood by their side and with a wave of his wand, conjured a chair for himself, making a loose semi-circle with Lupin and Snape between himself and the Japanese. The thunk and rattle of the china settling on a side table failed to rouse the guest professors. Lupin exchanged a glance with the Headmaster.  
  
"Takashi?" he tried.  
  
Takashi blinked slowly, a deliberate move and again stilled.  
  
Lupin tried again. "Takashi," he said forcefully.  
  
The Japanese stirred, looking around in a daze and automatically accepting the cup that floated patiently at his side.  
  
"I can't find him," Takashi announced in a flat voice. He looked down at the fragile china he held as though it was a puzzling mystery. He shifted slightly, fixing a blank gaze at his friend. "Tsuzuki?"  
  
Tsuzuki shook his head once, a hand mussing his hair wearily. "Nothing," he said shortly but he accepted the proffered tea as well. Takashi sighed. From what little he knew of the purple-eyed man, Lupin recognized that Tsuzuki was not in a chatty sort of mood, further reinforced with the man sinking back into his chair and staring into the fire, face closed and shuttered, devoid of emotion. But when he did speak, it hardly comforted anyone.  
  
"Our bond is quiet. He's there but. . .it's quiet."  
  
Takashi nodded, sipping the hot tea slowly. "As with Kyo."  
  
"Takashi?"  
  
Takashi shook himself, giving the Headmaster an apologetic grimace. "We share a bond with our partners, though Tsuzuki and Hisoka's is stronger. We can both feel them still but. . ." he waved around his half-empty cup vaguely. A frown creased his forehead. "It's quiet, as Tsuzuki says. They must be incapacitated. Either by the backlash from their wards breaking or. . ."  
  
"They're under a very strong ward themselves," Tsuzuki finished quietly. "One enough to stifle Hisoka's presence."  
  
Dumbledore shook his head slowly. "Of all the things. . .we can't thank you enough for the help you've given us. For protecting the children. And Harry." He refilled his cup, offering more to the others who declined. "We will get them back, safe and sound. You have my word on that."  
  
Takashi nodded. "While this wasn't exactly a favoured possibility, we knew that it might come to this. At least, if what Harry says is correct, we can use this opportunity to gather information on Voldemort's forces. Kyo and Hisoka will know what to do. We'll doubtless be hearing from them in a day or two." He sounded, to Lupin's excellent hearing, not hopeful, but more. . .resigned?  
  
Lupin digested that startling piece of revelation slowly. Just what exactly had the Japanese gone through for them to not even be that rattled at having their partners kidnapped by a Dark Lord?  
  
"So you're just going to leave them there?" the throaty rasp came form behind them. The assembled professors turned sharply in their seats. Harry had awakened and was sitting up, fixing Takashi with a hurt, almost accusatory look that was spoiled by his near-sighted blinking, Lupin himself having taken the liberty to free the boy of his cumbersome glasses. "Let them get. . hurt, just for the sake of gathering information?" The boy got to his feet, swaying alarmingly but stubbornly firmed his spine, ignoring Fawkes' reproachful trill.  
  
"He's your husband! And Hisoka is your friend and Tsuzuki's husband! How c-- "  
  
Takashi got up in one swift move to cross the rug, perching himself on the edge of the sofa by Harry's side before the boy could so much as blink. The man took Harry's hand in his, smiling up to him; a crooked twist of the lips. "It's necessary Harry," he said softly. "We're doing our job."  
  
Harry wrenched his hand out of Takashi's grip, shaking his head disbelievingly. "No," he said. "How could you say that? We have to rescue them! They could be. . hurt and. . ." he swallowed, looking all too young just then and Lupin longed to take Harry into his arms, to soothe away the fear he saw in that face. But Harry had to grow up. Had to face the facts, unpleasant as it was.  
  
"We're fighting a war, Harry," Takashi said patiently. "There might not be a pre-determined battlefield but it's a war all the same. And in war, you have to do things that you don't like, that you hate."  
  
"I know that!" Harry burst out, hands balling into fists by his side. "I know that! I'm not a child!"  
  
"And Kyo and Hisoka both know that as well," Takashi countered calmly. He stood up, brushing off his hands and holding them out to Harry. "And I can't put it into words just how sad I am that you're not a child any longer, Harry-kun."  
  
The boy faltered then, looking back and forth between Takashi and the silent group watching at the sides. Snape's eyes were absent of their usual malice when confronted with the boy, Lupin noted absently. Tsuzuki was in the shadows again and the Headmaster. . .the Headmaster looked old. Harry gave a sort of pained gasp, a small keening cry and stumbled into Takashi's arms, the Japanese holding on to him firmly and whispering into his ear.  
  
Lupin did not whether to feel grateful or worried, that it didn't take long for Harry to collect himself. His eyes, though red-rimmed, were dry and his face pale. When Snape coldly informed him that Occlumency lesson would go on as planned, Harry looked almost relieved and he nodded quickly. When Dumbledore spoke up though, Lupin could smell a frisson of fear shooting through the young wizard. Fear of what, the werewolf wasn't sure exactly.  
  
The Headmaster looked at Harry over half-moon spectacles. "We need to discuss the current situation, how we plan on going about this," he said gently, yet almost formally. "Harry, would you care to join us before your lesson? If you feel that you are. . .able to?" Just the slightest hesitation, one that could be put down as nothing more than the interval he took to take a sip of his tea. But understanding flashed through Harry's expressive eyes. Understanding, that fear again and, dare he presume, gratefulness?  
  
The smile that broke Harry's face was a soothing sight to everyone, though most probably not Snape. The boy nodded and the Headmaster drew up a chair for him, next to Takashi.  
  
When ensured that everyone was well fortified with bracing tea (extra sugar for Harry), Dumbledore leaned forwards, a keen look in his eyes as he captured Takashi's eyes with his own. He laced his fingers together, steepled before his face. "You are both accomplished spiritualists, are you not, Takashi? Tsuzuki?"  
  
Both men nodded.  
  
"Is there any way for you to track down where the. . .apparition came from?"  
  
Takashi frowned lightly, exchanging a look with Tsuzuki. "Possibly. ." he said slowly. "Though it would help if we knew the onryo's identity."  
  
Dumbledore clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, shaking his head regretfully. "Unfortunately, we do. It—she," he corrected himself, "Was the mother of one of our Slytherins, Draco Malfoy. She was the Lady Narcissa Malfoy."  
  
"A blood bond," Takashi mused. He turned a sharp gaze on to Harry. "That's what you said earlier. That 'he' used her love for her son."  
  
Harry bit his lip, looking down into the depths of his tea as if it held the answers to life. "Yes. . .it was. ." he shot Lupin a helpless look and the werewolf smiled back, trying to be comforting without words. "It wasn't like the usual visions. It was. . I don't know," he finished helplessly. "But yes, it was Voldemort's work. He sent her." His face twisted in a grimace of pain, the last vestiges of shock fading under growing realisation. "He used Malfoy's _mother_ against him."  
  
The crackle and pop of the fire was the only chatter that filled the room for a while.  
  
"She was so angry." Harry's reedy whisper cut through them like a knife. "Angry and. . .scared. Confused."  
  
Tsuzuki was the first to rouse himself. He laid a light hand on Takashi's arm, catching his attention. "We might be able to use that bond ourselves. Use it to track down where the onryo took Hisoka and Kyo."  
  
"You're right. Can you do that? Your shikigami is the strongest in this."  
  
With Tsuzuki's silent acquiescence, Takashi turned back to the Headmaster. "Do you know where Voldemort's current base is? These kinds of rituals usually involves groundings that are tied to the victim in some way. A place the spirit regards as home so as to be able to draw the spirit back."  
  
Dumbledore frowned heavily, his spoon clicking gently against the sides of his cup as he stirred the contents thoughtfully. His question was directed at Snape.  
  
"Your contact was not able to tell of their location, was he?"  
  
Snape affirmed that with a scowl. "The charm, though not a _Fidelius_, is just as effective. It's the Dark Lord's own creation and so far, is proving to be unbreakable. But even if their base is the Malfoy manor. . .dammit, Albus! Someone should have realised that Narcissa is dead! Just because she was married to that—to Lucius!"  
  
"Severus," Dumbledore warned him calmly.  
  
"Come Albus, we both know that if was any other person, say the Weasley woman, Aurors would be falling all over themselves if she so much as fails to make dinner on time." Snape banished his tea with an irritated wave. "Taint someone with Death Eater connections and she's worth less than a house elf."  
  
The Japanese appeared surprised by the man's sudden outburst. Lupin himself was a bit confused. He didn't know that Snape was on a first-name basis with the Lady of the Malfoys. Though if one were to judge by the sudden flush to pale cheeks, there might be more to that story than he could ever know.  
  
Snape was still talking, hands gesturing in tight movements that belied a checked frustration while Harry looked on in some sort of awed fear and surprise. The Potions Master continued with controlled venom, "Narcissa was never as powerful as Lucius was but she was a Slytherin! With her husband in Azkaban, she would not have opened her house to the Dark Lord. She was, at best, an indifferent Death Eater. She knows the price that she'd have to pay might be too much. It would take nothing short of an outright battle if one were to take over the House of Malfoy by force."  
  
"Why is that?" Lupin interjected mildly. "And I thought that Lady Malfoy was already entrenched within the Dark Lord's ranks. . ."  
  
Snape growled darkly, Lupin belatedly aware of Harry cowering back in his seat. The werewolf fought the same urge.  
  
"Lucius was the one who embraced the call. Never Narcissa. Only her loyalty to the Malfoy name led her to support what was to her a waste of time. She was too cunning to ever let Lord Malfoy be aware of her sentiments." The sneer on his face indicated his respect for such a shrewd opponent. "After all, one would take great care in voicing out one's opinion around Lucius Malfoy, especially when it contradicts his own."  
  
"And what you've said of storming the manor?" came Takashi's softly-spoken query.  
  
Snape shot him a sharp glare. "The House is Unplottable. It can't be mapped," he added at the look of confusion on the Japanese' faces. "Only those of Malfoy blood can gain entry and those the Lord of the Manor grants permission to. Draco may be able to get us in," he said reluctantly. "But we would have to wait till he awakens."  
  
"Still, it doesn't hurt to try." With decisiveness coloring his words, Takashi held out his arm, fist clenched loosely. His voice dropped into a whisper, the fire shrinking in sympathy and plunging the room into deeper shadows.  
  
_"I need you."_  
  
Lupin felt the hairs at the back of his neck rise; magic was being called into almost tangible form; was in fact, becoming corporeal as a darker swirl of colors gathered in a tight vortex around Takashi's outstretched arm. The wizards present found themselves drawing closer, almost hanging off the edge of their seats as they strove to discern the form that was slowly taking shape within the miniature maelstrom of coalescing magic.  
  
The vortex swirled tighter, becoming denser, more compact and with a soft _kee!_ a kestrel was born out of the gathered power. The bird was different from its mortal representation; the markings darker as though the bright hues had been dipped in shadows and like gossamer silk, they clung to the small raptor, obscuring its true colors. The kestrel swept its gaze once around the room then fixed Takashi with an inquiring _kee?  
_  
"Kyo's gone," Takashi informed the listening bird. "I need you to find him. Can you do that?"  
  
The bird of prey, barely the size of a dove, fluffed its feathers and Lupin could almost swear that it was actually annoyed at having its competency questioned. Takashi's soft laughter confirmed that and he prompted the bird with a "Well? What are you waiting for?"  
  
It launched off Takashi's arm in a whirling eddy of shadows, magic and wind, disappearing between wing beats. Fawkes trilled once, surprised, and hopped on to the back of Takashi's chair, his plumed head cocked to the side.  
  
"A construct from my magic," Takashi informed the phoenix quite seriously. "It's a part of me, essentially. If anything besides Tsuzuki's shikigami can track them down, my own would be able to."  
  
"It's similar to Shiozaki's raven, is it not?" Dumboledore asked curiously.  
  
Takashi smiled briefly. "Yes, the construct follows the same structure; basically calling up your power and giving it awareness. These kinds of shikigami are more versatile than 'fuda based ones. They're also a reflection of the onmyouji's personality."  
  
Dumbledore's old eyes brightened perceptibly. Lupin had to smile at that. Confronted with new knowledge, Dumbledore was like a kid in a candy store; eager to explore and acquire. And judging by the subsequent gleam, Lupin knew that the canny wizard had also realised the significance of such a skill. Order members, if they could be trained to do what Takashi did, would have a safer means of communication. Or spying.  
  
"Can these shikigami," Dumbledore pronounced the foreign word slowly, "be detected?"  
  
"Usually, no." Takashi sipped his tea, brows drawing together in a frown. "If you're skilful enough. And they can penetrate through all but the most powerful wards. It really depends on the onmyouji's power."  
  
"And yours?"  
  
Takashi's eyes hardened, his grip on the tea cup becoming white-knuckled. "If my shikigami, and later, Tsuzuki's, fail to track them down, then we do have something to be worried about. It stands to reason that if we can't get to them, they can't get to us."  
  
"Speaking of onmyouji," Lupin broke in, smiling disarmedly, "We were hoping you could help us out with something. Or maybe Tsuzuki can."  
  
Tsuzuki merely inclined his head to show he was listening, while Takashi leaned towards him. "That being?"  
  
With an apologetic smile, Lupin briefly outlined the Death Eaters' attempts at reconnaissance, of their inquiries into Japan's shadier side of magic practitioners. The two Japanese visibly stiffened at this, alarm swiftly crossing their faces before settling into blank masks. When he got to the journal, not mentioning yet the author's name as Dumbledore had clearly instructed him not to, wanting to see their reaction, Lupin offered Takashi a few of the copied pages from the journal they had.  
  
Takashi took the papers, evidently curious as he started reading them, lips pursed. He started to frown again, barely halfway down the page and muttering under his breath. Lupin caught half-phrases like "Servants of the Lord" and "Resurrection. . .immortal body" when his face suddenly paled, the color disappearing so fast Lupin was afraid that the man would pass out right there and then.  
  
"Whose journal was this?" Takashi sounded strangled, as though the words were caught halfway out of his throat and died somewhere inside his mouth. Tsuzuki looked at him sharply, suspicion tightening his muscles.  
  
"Takashi?"  
  
"Whose journal _was this?"_ Takashi practically exploded on to his feet shaking the papers he held in a too-tight grip. Surreptitiously, Dumbledore and Snape had reached for their wands, alarm causing them to view the Japanese with wariness. Harry was watching it all quietly, unsure how to act. Tsuzuki tried to take the papers from Takashi but the auburn-haired man shook him off, whirling around to face Dumbledore.  
  
_"Whose was it?"  
_  
Dumbledore blinked, trying to gauge their reaction to the name he was about to reveal. Apparently, the Japanese were familiar with this particular onmyouji. Or at least, familiar enough with his work. And it did not bode well to see the usually level-headed guest professor practically shaking with either anger or fear.  
  
The Headmaster shot his two professors a warning look: _be prepared_ it said.  
  
"Kazutaka Muraki."  
  
The effect was instantaneous.  
  
Takashi, if it was possible, paled even further, the copied pages falling from his suddenly slack grip. His tea cup followed suit, smashing on the floor and spilling tea everywhere.  
  
But it was nothing compared to Tsuzuki's reaction.  
  
For the first time since entering the Headmaster's office, the normally cheerful and guileless professor showed true emotion. Fear, anger, hatred in a dizzying carousel of emotion, all of them dark and negative and smelling so plain _wrong_ to the hypersensitive nose of the werewolf, flooded the dark-haired man's expressive face, turning the strange yet beautiful purple eyes into deeper pools of violet that were almost red as wine.  
  
The tall, slimly built man was shaking, visibly trembling from head to toe as his mouth worked soundlessly, his head shaking in silent denial from side to side.  
  
"No," he whispered. "Merciful Kannon, no. Not again."

* * *

"It's getting to be quite ridiculous, Lucius, how the boy slips through my grasp yet again." The words were said in a mocking tone that could, under different circumstances, be called amused.  
  
But Lucius Malfoy knew his Master better than anyone. Though his stance was relaxed, his wand out of sight, the Dark Lord was angry. Justifiably so since the effort it took to bind a vengeful spirit to its fleshy shell was troublesome to say the least. It was a pretty straightforward plan; using the ties of family to breach the wards of Hogwarts and placing a geas on the ghost of his wife to kill the brat. It should have succeeded.   
  
"It does seem as though the boy has the luck of the devil, my lord," Lucius said neutrally.  
  
Voldemort shot him a red-eyed glance, lipless mouth curving in a tolerant smile. The events at the Department of Mysteries had left his Lord more cautious than usual, not so prone to playing with the Potter brat as he used to and Lucius had to agree that it was the best course of action. They had dallied far too long and his Master deserved more than hiding out, bidding his time from the shadows. Even if the shadows were the opulent abode of the Malfoys.  
  
"Yes, he does, doesn't he," Voldemort said mildly but something flashed in those inhuman eyes that caused the ever-present Wormtail by his side to flinch. The reedy man had grown silent the past months and Lucius was beginning to doubt the man's usefulness. But he dismissed the matter for another time. He nudged one of the prone bodies on the cold, moist floor of the dungeons beneath the manor distastefully, careful to not mar the shiny finish of his gleaming boots.  
  
He sneered, "At least the bitch was good enough for _something_. This could very well be an advantage to us, my lord."  
  
Along with Narcissa's reappearance in a wail of icy mist and shrieking winds, she had trapped with her two of the Japanese they had heard about. A quick spell had confined the ghost to her prison again while the Japanese got their own. Lucius scowled, pulling the scars on his face into grotesque lines of disgust. "Though, I wonder that a couple of puling brats like these could be of any use."  
  
The two students that were their inadvertent guests were still out cold, sprawled helplessly as their bodies shuddered in the aftermath of Narcissa's touch. Though he called them brats, Lucius had to admit that they were beautiful brats, especially the fair headed one. So fair. . .like his own son. Yet different from the pallor of a Malfoy by virtue of the vividness of his coloring. Almost beautiful enough to spark his interest.  
  
Voldemort crouched down, taking care not to soil his heavy black robes in the congealed dirt, blood and other unidentifiable mess long crusted into the floor. One long-fingered hand brushed through the hair of the other boy, a couple of years older than his own son, Lucius recalled. At the touch of fingers sliding through his hair, the boy flinched, whimpering from the contact. A cruel smile pulled the scaly skin of the Dark Lord.  
  
"They have power, Lucius. Can you not feel it? Power so strong for ones so young. Mayhap, like our good Dr. Muraki, they would have secrets to tell us."  
  
Lucius chose not to comment, waiting instead for his Master to make his plans known while Wormtail tried to surreptitiously edge away.  
  
"I have gained little headway in interpreting the man's journals. He's far too fond of allegories that I am not familiar with," Voldemort admitted as he stood up, brushing his hands negligently. He noticed Wormtail's cowering and dismissed the man with a bored flick of his wand. "Get out of my sight, Wormtail, if you can't be of use to me." The rat was only too happy to obey and he quickly scuttled out, the heavy wooden door of the dungeon falling shut with a muffled boom.  
  
"But I have discovered an interesting spell the man had developed. One to bind a captive's magic and render him as useless as a Squib. The spell ought to peak your interest."  
  
Lucius' steel-grey eyes brightened at this. He was always rather fond of magical restraints, the more vicious and malevolent, the better, though one must always consider flair and elegance beforehand. That was the trouble with a variety of Dark Arts paraphernalia; they lack the beauty and grace to go with the power.  
  
"Come, Lucius," Voldemort glided out of the cell with a swirl of black robes, his most trusted servant bringing up the rear and locking the door behind him. "We have work to do and precious little time to do so."  
  
The scarred man chuckled softly as he followed. Perhaps, for once, the game would finally prove to be enough to hold his attention. He sincerely hoped so.

* * *

**to be continued******

* * *

**A/N:** I'm so sorry for the late update. I had an end-of-semester exam a few days ago and after industrial training, it's hard to get back into the swing of studying. Bah. At least it's over with. The good thing is that most of the angst/blood/torture for the next few chapters are already outlined and done. We just need the correlating scenes in-between to show how the other side is faring.  
  
Have you seen the mailing list? It's all pretty now! (giggle)

* * *

**Kyo and Hisoka's banishing spell:**

_Laksmir jagat trayam pati samharta ca mahesvarah __pathanad dharanad deva babhuvus ca digisvarah _

"It is by reciting and meditating upon this that Laksmi maintains the three worlds, and Lord Siva destroys them. Also the demigods in this way became controllers of the different directions."

**Prayers to Lord Narasimhadeva - Powerful mantras for protection from malevolent spirits and material desires, as well as increased devotion and a peaceful world to the Lord's half-lion incarnation.**

****

**Source: **stephen-knapp. com / prayerstolordnarasimhadeva . htm

_(Just remove the spaces in between)_

**Dumbledore's banishing spell:**

To banish evil spirits from your presence, draw the Eolh rune (z) in red ink on each palm so that when you extend your hand with your palm out and your fingers up, the rune is upright. Whenever you sense an evil presence, clap your hands together three times so that your palms tingle, and hold out your hands in the direction of the malicious entity, saying:   
  
_Eagle's claws are strong,   
Dragon's teeth are long;   
Arnhofdhi guards the way,   
Sigfadhir wins the day.   
_  
Arnhofdhi means "eagle-headed," and Sigfadhir means "father of victory." Both are names of the god Odin, lord of the runes and god of magic.

**Source: **Currently unavailable

**Hisoka's sword:**

Hisoka's sword being able to affect the onryo is because it was dedicated to a temple. I'm not sure of its accuracy but apparently, Japanese swordsmiths would make 2 swords at the same time and the less-than-perfect specimen is dedicated to the temples as an offering to the gods. I'm guessing that this means the sword made must be the pinnacle to a swordsmith's career.

**

* * *

**


	29. Chapter 29:Mirror of Alatheia

**Title: **When Death Comes a'Knocking: Book 1 – Of Revelations

**Plot Mistresses: **Shiozaki, Shaynie, Librarycat, Literary Eagle

**Spell Researchers: **Fellow wizards, witches & omnyouji at my Yahoo!Group

**Scene Masters: **Shiozaki and Librarycat

**Beta-d by: **Librarycat

**Review replies:**

**Ghost Whisper: **thank you very much for your kind words. Here's the next chapter then!

**Hitomibishop****: **Aha! You caught out little clue about Narcissa! Yes, I figured Voldie would be evil enough to do that. Though, poor 'Cissa.

**Quatre**** Winner: **Great to see you at the list by the way! And how I planned this fic out? Well, it was more of a vague idea at the back of my head concerning the Prophecy, about the power the Dark Lord knows not. That, and I refused to let Kyo and Takashi go. If anything, my ideas were half-formed at best. It was Shaynie, Literary Eagle and later on, Librarycat that really gave the story depth; especially Librarycat/Lisa. Having another head to bounce off ideas is a great way to see the flaws in your story. My suggestion? Get a like-minded friend to do your fics with. They're a godsend!

**Joonie****, cmquietone, Bea-chan, tenshiamanda, Yui-mag: **Thank you! And for you guys hoping for slash action with Harry. . .well, let's just say that the circumstances in WDCAK is not set in stone. The future is fluid, little grasshoppers, and no man (or author) can predict anything with certainty.

**Daemonchan****: **Ah, you'll be disappearing again! But still, I hope your move goes well. Be waiting to hear from you again.

**Tatsuken****: **The was your review pays attention to the little details is heart-warming. Thank you. And I'd love to see the runes! Would you happen to know where I can get information on it as well? A geas is a curse by the way, and Kannon is the Goddess of Mercy from Buddhist beliefs. You can find out about her on the website on Buddhist and Shinto beliefs I provided after the chapter.

**Kaze****: **Ah, you caught the significance of the pain Kyo went through when Narcissa did that. And to answer your questions:

**1. Why is Takashi afraid of Muraki when Muraki was already insane when they met?**

Yes, that is correct. But keep in mind that Muraki was the one who killed Hisoka and the one mortal who knew almost everything about the Shinigami (I'm discounting Akuma here, by the way, since he's not human). After working so long at the Shokan, Takashi and Kyo would have to know at least some of the history involving Muraki. And remember; Muraki alone knew how to capture a Shinigami despite their abilities. A scary thought, ne?

**2. Takashi/Tsuzuki teaching Harry mental shielding**

That is addressed somewhat obliquely in this chapter. But he is sticking with Snape for Occlumency. Hisoka is actually the best choice in teaching Harry among the Japanese and in the future, we will bring this up, no worries.

**3. Everyone's ignorance of Kyo's injuries thanks to Narcissa**

The injury wasn't visible. Let me quote Chapter 28:

_. . .a strangled yelp and Kyo fell out of his roll gracelessly even though there was no visible wound on him._

Narcissa's touch is insubstantial. It injures the spiritual matter, not the physical. Note how Lucius observes Hisoka and Kyo, while still unconscious, shaking in the aftermath of her touch. Imagine your insides dipped in nitrogen.

**4. Why did _Expecto__ Patronum _****shattered their kekkai?**

It wasn't the Patronus charm that did it; it was Narcissa, fuelled by her anger.

**5. Muraki's journals are from which part of his life? Pre or post-Akuma?**

The journals are pre-Akuma. I figured Muraki would be too. . .insane to write in journals after his little episode with Akuma. And for those wondering, I'm afraid I made a mistake by saying it's coded. It's not coded per se, but more of it being worded such that British wizards would find it hard to make heads or tails of it. Only those familiar with Japanese mythology and legends would, and only then through careful study.

**6. How old is Dumbledore?**

Ah. . .that little fact I had established before I got my feet firmly on the ground. I had put him at three hundred plus but looking back, it's kind of ridiculous. I think I'll change it to a hundred something. A bit older than Tsuzuki.

**7. How did Muraki die?**

Quite peacefully I imagined. After all, him being insane is not conducive to sucking life force from unsuspecting victims so for me, he died when his store of reserve power dwindled away.

I hope that hss managed to answer your questions satisfactorily! Whew!

**Nekoki**** Yakkai: **Ooh, hope you're feeling better then!

* * *

** Chapter 29**

** Mirror of Alatheia**

* * *

Harry wondered whether the staring match he was currently engaged in with Professor Snape had any significance to the Occlumency lesson he was here in the potions classroom for, or if the greasy haired professor was actually contemplating the best way to kill him and dispose of the body without anyone being the wiser. The unwavering stare he was subjected to was _that _bad.

_At least_, Harry comforted himself, _I've got the Headmaster as a witness in case he is thinking about killing me. _

"If I had wanted to I would have done so the first time you set foot in this castle, Potter."

Harry winced and immediately tried to empty his mind of detention-inducing thoughts. No such luck. The gray stone slab that served Snape faithfully as table and formidable bastion seemed like such a paltry barrier all of a sudden.

The young wizard fidgeted uneasily in the stiff wooden chair, perfect for miscreants and the wannabe vigilantes to mull over their imminent doom. The professor himself was ensconced on a high stool that gave him the added advantage of height; not that the Potions Master needed it. Even with taller students, the man gave the impression of towering over lesser beings, his black robes a light sucking cape that heralded disaster.

"So here we are again, back where we started." Snape didn't sound angry. Not even peeved. Rather, the man's tone was indifferent to the point where even a hint of any emotion would make him sound marginally human. His long, clever fingers played idly with an eagle feather quill, the nib worn and bone-thin. His table was free of the week's work, reference books (not that Snape needed any) stacked aside in a tidy pile. Similarly, the rows of desks and cauldrons behind Harry were scrubbed clean, thanks to the ministrations of the latest unlucky fool to incur the professor's wrath.

"Tell me Potter—"

Harry started, trying to meet Snape's inky dark eyes and fervently hoped that the man hadn't caught on to his almost religious study of the man himself. _Snape__ has that tendency on people_, Harry thought glumly. He had the ability to draw attention to himself in a room full of people the way a black hole sucked light and gravity. It was a quiet sort of attraction, pulling you in as a quicksand does its victim, uncomprehending of your danger till it was too late.

"--Despite our rather. . .abrupt ending last year, have you practiced emptying that void you call your mind every night, at the very least?"

Harry fought to keep his face blank, even as he squeezed his hands together, fingers crushed and twisted painfully. _You promised yourself to think first, then act. Getting mad won't help you. It'll only get people killed._

"I have, Professor," Harry replied neutrally, even as his right thumb was bent back excruciatingly.

Snape didn't blink. "How long?"

"For me to do it?" Harry clarified and was answered with a sardonic lift of an eyebrow. "Usually around half an hour, maybe more."

A sneer finally broke the impassive façade of the Potions Master's face, twisting the lines bracketing his mouth and eyes deeper and ageing him a decade in an instant. "Half an hour is not good enough Potter. You need to be faster, to do it instinctively. The Dark Lord would not be so courteous as to wait till you've rid your head of every useless bit of fluff inside."

"I know that. Kyo has been teaching me how to meditate," Harry bit out and immediately cursed himself for losing even that small margin of control. He refused to let more tumble free, ready and waiting at the tip of his tongue. He needed this lesson. Even if he had to do it with Snape, he would grin and bear it. Because the next time he might lose more than one person he held dear.

Alright, maybe he could at least _grimace _and bear it. Anything more would elevate him to the lofty status of sainthood.

The stillness that fell was heavy and expectant. Harry refused to make the first move. He had his limits after all. Even if his fingers promised to be red and throbbing after tonight and his eyes felt as if they were filled with sand, not surprising considering that it was nearly one o'clock in the morning. The meeting earlier in the Headmaster's office had ended on a tense note with Tsuzuki refusing to speak to anyone, leaving silently. Takashi, after the Headmaster had plied him with Firewhisky-laced tea, only mumbled something about Muraki being a long-time 'adversary' of the _yamabushi_, one they had thought they were finally free of.

"The Headmaster asked me to _teach _you, Potter. To make you proficient in the art of Occlumency." The eagle feather quill was laid aside in favour of white fingers interlacing together. Black eyes pinned him in his seat, aching hands forgotten. "He asked me to be. . ._gentle_ with you." The sneer he was favoured with would have done a gargoyle proud in its ferocity. "Frankly Potter, in light of the current situation, we cannot afford to be gentle."

Harry swallowed nervously. "Wh-what do you mean? Sir?" he added hurriedly.

"Do you know what happens to a captive of the Dark Lord?" Snape asked instead.

Harry froze, eyes going blank.

_Screams.__ A hiss piercing the white-hot pain that burned his skin. 'A little break. . .a little pause. . .that hurt, didn't it, Harry? You don't want me to do that again, do you?' _

"Yes," he croaked. "Yes, I know. Sir."

The Potions Master leaned forwards, hands splayed flat on the surface of his table, eyes glittering with strange triumph and self-loathing. "Then you'll realise that your friends are merely waiting for their turn. The Dark Lord may even provide you with front row seats for the show."

Harry couldn't break free of Snape's hypnotic hold, his mind scrambling frantically like a cornered rodent under the assault. The barriers he tried to throw up were flimsy at best, half-formed and shady, merely slowing down the knife-thrust of a master Legilimens. He focused instead on one fond memory of a clear day on the shores of the castle's lake as a Japanese boy hugged him close and whispered that everything would be alright.

A firm grip on that cherished day, Harry threw out his hand and shouted _"Expelliarmus!" _There was a startled oath and a wand of ebony walnut flew into his hands. Harry opened his eyes and he smiled shakily in triumph. Snape glared though there was an indecipherable look on his pallid face, even as he held out a hand, saying coldly, "My wand, Potter."

Harry quickly gave up the wand he had appropriated, flushing.

"Well? What are you waiting for?"

He shot out of his seat and quickly scuttled over to the desk that Snape had pointed to imperiously without thinking twice about it. Only standing before it that Harry realised the desk was filled with jars of preserved snails, all waiting to beunshelled.

"I want them shelled and rebottled tonight. Discard any spoiled specimens."

The young wizard looked blankly back and forth between the snails and the professor looming over him. The narrow eyed glare he received made up his mind and he got to work without complaint. How shelling snails had anything to do with Occlumency, he didn't dare ask. But soon enough, he fell into an easy rhythm of pluck, crack, peel and clean, his robes stained with snail juice and preservatives. There was something soothing about doing such a mindless task, one that allowed his mind to quieten, savouring the stillness particular to this time of the night.

_"Legilimens!"_

* * *

__

_He remembered this day. Or night, rather. He was standing at the very top of the wooden stairs that led to the house's cellar, a naked bulb throwing dim illumination into the darkness that waited beyond. If he strained his hearing, he could just make out the slow drip drip drip of water on stone and the chitter and scrape of claws._

_Hisoka was eight years old and it was the night his mother locked him in a dark, dank cell underneath the house._

_Because he was a monster.___

Oh, Enma, no. Why this again?

_He twisted around, grabbing on to his mother's yukata, the rich fabric crunched in his little fists. "Mama, please," he whispered pleadingly. "Don't make me go down there. I promise I'll be good."_

_The shadowy face of his mother did not coalesce into the features he remembered so clearly. Like a shroud of death, gloom veiled her face but her low, melodious voice he could hear clearly. _

_"Get your hands off of me, monster."_

_Hisoka whimpered, bracing himself for the influx of hatred and disgust that never failed to accompany that name he was given by his own mother. Quivering muscles tensed, waiting for a blow that never came._

_But green eyes widened in disbelief. His empathy was silent. Blank. Refusing to believe it, he reached out tentatively with his mind only to run into a wall. His empathy was gone._

_"Mama!" he gasped. "I can't hear you anymore! It's gone! You won't have to send me down there!" Jubilation flooded his small body, him beaming up into the shadows that were his mother. He didn't know what god that had granted him this favour but he thanked that being with every fiber in his soul. He wasn't a monster anymore. His mother would love him again. His father would look at him without sheer hatred for once._

_Pale hands that never knew the backbreaking labor of work materialised out of the darkness and settled on to his shoulders, giving him a gentle squeeze. Hisoka couldn't help the huge grin that broke his face, ready to give him mama a hug and say that nothing needed to be forgiven._

_"You will always be a monster."_

_And white hands pushed him into the darkness that waited._

* * *

Hisoka came to with a gasp and immediately regretted ever waking up. A headache throbbed fiercely, seeming to follow every beat of his heart like an accompanying band. He screwed his eyes shut, willing the pounding to go away but with no such luck. His face felt wet, sticky, generally yucky. So did the rest of him. He lifted a hand, wanting to scrub at least _some _of the grime off his face. Instead, he encountered a wad of cloth pressed firmly against his left temple. Hisoka realised that that was the spot where the pounding was worst and he shifted, trying to dislodge whatever it was that was causing the ache.

"Hisoka, no. You haven't stopped bleeding yet."

Kyo. Realisation jolted through him and the fight with the onryo flooded his mind. He had incapacitated the ghost, he remembered, only to end up getting dragged along for the ride as they discovered that the spirit was bound with a geas to its flesh. When they were transported forcibly, he had lost consciousness and now he knew that Kyo must have been taken as well.

"Kyo?" Gods, his throat felt like it had been thoroughly sanded down with diamond grade sandpaper. He forced his aching eyes to open and tried to understand the dizzying jumble of images.

All too familiar greyish-green stone walls, ubiquitous to dungeons everywhere greeted him. The walls gleamed wetly with condensation, not much different from the floor he was laid out on. Only his head and upper shoulders were relatively dry and comfortable; he was lying in Kyo's lap.

The boy who graciously became his pillow shifted slightly, Hisoka blinking as Kyo gently adjusted him to settle him more comfortably. From the little bit he saw at the edge of his vision and as he tilted his head back slowly, the wad of cloth Kyo was using as a compress was the older boy's outer black t-shirt. Blue eyes, unnaturally dilated met his and the bare traces of a smile curved Kyo's pale lips.

"Hey." Kyo's voice cracked at the end and he tried again. "Hey. 'Bout time you woke up."

Hisoka fingered the makeshift compress Kyo had made carefully. It felt damp, just the slightest bit sticky and he didn't have to see to know that it was damp with blood. His own fingers rested lightly on Kyo's and he swallowed painfully. "Wh-what happened?"

Thin shoulders lifted into a small shrug. "I have no idea. When she took us, I blacked out and the next thing I knew, here we are in the Hilton's best suite." The joke fell flat and Kyo winced. He blinked rapidly, his pale blue irises still drowned under a tidal wave of black. Kyo was in shock, Hisoka realised with a start. "You got a head wound and it's bleeding freely. I tried to stop it. . . ." A shudder wracked his friend's frame. "It's been over ten minutes, 'Soka. Your wound hasn't closed."

"What?" Hisoka gasped. And only then Hisoka became aware of the fact that he was still touching Kyo's hand and it was only through that skin-to-skin contact could he feel his friend's distress. _His empathy was stifled_. Stifled under a practically visible blanket of dark emotions that seem to emanate from his very skin.

He jerked his hands up to his face and what he saw made his chest constrict in pain that had nothing to do with any sort of injury. His body tensed, locking his muscles in fear and belated comprehension.

His arms were wound tightly with wire-thin, blackish strands. Strands that dug cruelly into the bare skin of his forearms as though a child had scribbled his pale skin with a pen. Scribbles that bound his empathy viciously, stifling his innate magic and without a doubt, his Shinigami-given capabilities.

For a brief second, Hisoka could swear that he saw the deep scarlet marks of the curse flaring into life again on his body.

"Human hair," he whispered brokenly. "We're bound by human hair. Infused with the pain and hatred of the victim's untimely, cruel death. The one prison a Shinigami cannot break free of." The words fell woodenly. It was an excerpt from a report by Watari, all those long years ago. A report when one man had haunted their lives, his and Tsuzuki's in particular. The very man who had killed him and granted him the twilight existence of a god of death.

"This is Muraki's."

The body underneath him tensed as well. Fingers dug into his shoulders and the boy above him repeated blankly, "Muraki's." The fingers flexed once. Twice. "But he's dead." Kyo said, bewildered. "_He's dead and has received Enma's Judgment!_"

That penetrated the icy grip of shock that had descended over him. Hisoka coughed, brought back to reality from nightmares that never completely went away. Kyo was right. Muraki was long dead with no chance of resurrection. No one could, not when they wereunder the sway of Enma's dominion. _So this isn't Muraki's, _Hisoka thought with almost blinding relief, causing him to sag into the cold, damp floor. _But that means. . ._his eyes widened, probably making him look like a startled owl, as Tsuzuki had teased him once. _Dear Kannon and Enma, someone found out about Muraki._

He sat up abruptly, blistering the air with curses when that proved to be an unwise move as his head complained bitterly. He had to wait a minute or two for the throbbing to lessen. _At least I can move. _Their captors had been generous with the human hair binding; long strands of it trailed from them, pooling on the floor. He tugged experimentally and saw that the ends sank into the stones and that no amount of pulling could tear it free. Nor could he free himself of it. The hairs were impossible to remove by the captive himself, he knew; experience and current testing proved it.

"Shit," he swore. His store of colourful curses had been exhausted but that single epithet was satisfying enough. A whimper from behind him reminded Hisoka of Kyo who was most probably freaking out. His friend had never. . ._experienced _the joys of such helpless imprisonment.

He turned quickly, the hairs entangling around his legs but he paid them no mind. They were tucked into a corner of the dim cell, Kyo huddling as tightly as he could into the junction of the walls. The sodden t-shirt lay forgotten on the floor as Kyo brought his legs up, hugging his knees and rocking back and forth in quick, jerky movements. Hisoka tentatively touched his wound, relieved to find that the blood was slowly congealing. Ignoring his bloodstained fingers, he reached out for Kyo who immediately flinched, huddling deeper.

"I don't know what's going on," Kyo gasped, raising his face to Hisoka. He looked even paler than usual, his eyes standing out of his face starkly. Minute tremors worked his body even as he kept on rocking back and forth. "Your wound hasn't closed and I can't teleport out and I can't feel my magic and gods, I want Takashi, please please please I want Takashi!"

Hisoka demonstrated that he still had some unused curse words inside somewhere. He didn't blame Kyo for losing it; Enma knew he would have as well, if he hadn't gone through the same thing himself with Muraki. But the fact that their healing powers were also blocked boded ill; even Muraki hadn't done that. After all, what use was a dead Shinigami to the insane sensei when he wasn't through playing? The conclusion didn't make Hisoka any happier; either someone had done a variation to the spell, more likely a twist to the magic-dampening fields of the hairs as his empathy seemed limited to touch and severely weakened at that, or their identities as Enma's gods of death had been discovered.

Either wasn't a likeable option but Hisoka pushed it aside for now. His friend needed help first. Coming straight on the heels of Kyo's recovery from an Akuma-flashback, Hisoka wondered morbidly whether this was payback from the enraged Western gods.

His mind brushed delicately at the other Shinigami's, intuition providing a meagre foothold in the absence of enough real strength in his empathy. The gentle mental stroking let him tease open Kyo's natural barriers to see the form of the emotions beneath. At the very outermost edge of Kyo's consciousness was a trembling sickness, an awareness of something askew and painfully _wrong_. Hisoka couldn't feel it for himself; for once his well-trained shields kept it at bay. But he could tell by his friend's aura that whatever it was, was _bad_. 

Turning a blind eye to Kyo's obvious reluctance, he bundled the larger boy into his arms and with the contact, allowed some measure of calm to seep into Kyo, slowly subduing the tremors and the incessant rocking. Kyo managed to stop hyperventilating as well as Hisoka rubbed his inky black hair, murmuring soothing words and pressing a kiss on top of his head. It never failed to amaze the empath how Kyo was able to tuck himself into such a little, compact ball when embraced like this. It made his friend appear smaller, more vulnerable.

Hisoka wasn't sure how long he held Kyo; the glowing patch on the ceiling that acted as a light did not flicker or dim with time. But he wasn't complaining. It felt good to have another person here with him, that he wasn't alone and that he had a warm body to hug close.

"Better?" he asked softly, nudging Kyo's cold cheek with his own. Kyo swallowed, nodding jerkily.

"What's going on?" Kyo's voice was a reedy imitation and he did not let go of Hisoka, seemingly afraid to.

Hisoka managed to shrug. "I don't know. You're right though, it's not Muraki. Tatsumi did warn us that the wizards were investigating our background. They might have found out about Muraki in the process."

Kyo echoed his earlier sentiments, swearing fluently. Hisoka had to bite back a smile; it was good to hear Kyo's usual spirits trying to assert themselves. But Kyo still refused to let go so he settled himself as comfortably as he could against the wall.

After the heated words died off, neither seemed willing to break the silence again and the only sound for long minutes were the steady dripping of water somewhere outside their cell. Another ubiquitous feature of standard dungeons, Hisoka thought with black humour. Their cell door was made of thick, solid wood that much he could tell. The unrelieved blankness of the wood made it impossible to tell if there was anyone else outside but Hisoka had no doubt that with magic, anyone could look inside.

Kyo stirred in his arms. "'Soka?" he asked hesitantly.

"Aa."

The older boy fiddled with the strands that bound his own arms; his sleeves had been torn away to accommodate the bindings, letting Hisoka see the clear lines of red that showed how desperate Kyo had been in trying to get rid of the hairs.

"I'm sorry," Kyo sighed into his chest.

Hisoka gave a sigh of his own, shifting and saying to the far wall, "You have nothing to apologise for. I should be the one saying it instead."

Kyo looked up, uncurling from his foetal position to meet his eyes. His pale blue eyes were sad, capturing him in their color. He shook his head faintly. "You were only trying to protect me and Takashi. I know," he added. "And I'm sorry I made you do it. And I'm sorry for. ." he cast his eyes down briefly before looking back into his. "For forcing you to hurt me."

Hisoka closed his eyes, breaking the contact and his arms tightened around his friend, almost painfully so but Kyo made no noise of protest. He opened his eyes again and said, lightly, "Well, I've always said that you and Tsuzuki are the biggest idiots to ever grace the Shokan."

Kyo looked dumbfounded for a brief, endearing moment before he broke into a grin, chuckling weakly. "You love us anyway," he teased back.

"How unfortunate for me," Hisoka replied wryly.

The chuckles erupted into soft laughter and Kyo took advantage of their position to press his own kiss on Hisoka's forehead. "And how lucky for us," he smiled.

Deep green eyes narrowed playfully. "Don't y—"

They both stiffened suddenly, alarm crossing their faces and each reached for 'fudas which were no longer there. They quickly scrambled to their feet, backing into a corner side by side, chests heaving.

Something dark was approaching them. Something evil. Something vile. Something that made their bond with Enma Daioh, Lord of Death and Judgment, vibrate with keening resonance that nauseated them, icy sweat breaking out on their skin. Unthinkingly, Kyo and Hisoka clasped their hands together; whatever it was outside their cell door, it scared them. It scared them like no personal nightmares could because what waited outside was a _Shinigami's _nightmare.

The door swung open on silent hinges to reveal a figure in black standing in the doorway. Kyo fell back with a gasp, Hisoka barely stifling his own cry. Through their clutching hands, he felt the spike of terror, and a gut churning revulsion that carried with it the threat of physical collapse; Kyo was approaching a complete nervous shut-down.This _thing_ was the source of the wrongness. This. . .aberration before them.

The dark figure glided inside slowly, steps silent on the stone and they could almost hear a sibilant hiss in the air. It stopped a few feet from them, a deep cowl covering its head and hiding its features.

_Please, _Hisoka prayed. _Please don't let us see its face._

A skeletal hand covered in white-bone skin emerged from the depths of the black robes, reaching up. Thin fingers slid the concealing cowl back and Hisoka cursed whatever gods that ignored his plea.

The same dead, white skin covered the creature's face and Hisoka realised that the light glinting off some spots were actually scales. His stomach roiled in protest. This creature had no nose save for two slits in the middle of its face, and a lipless mouth stretched in a parody of a smile with a black, leathery tongue flicking inside. But it was the eyes that grabbed them, that flooded them with a tidal wave of fear. It was always the eyes. Eyes that burned red like the hottest blood gushing forth from a still-beating heart or the coldest rubies crowning a skull.

Hisoka uttered the creature's name against his own volition.

"Lord Voldemort."

* * *

The morning was a fine example of Scottish November; dark, scudding grey clouds ponderously heavy with rain, sure to be icy fat drops that were more of an inconvenience than a threat. But Remus walked the grounds of the castle diligently, cloak pinned securely as he made liberal use of warming and everdry charms. He trod the well-worn path down to Hagrid's hut, the smoking chimney indicating the gamekeeper and Professor's presence, but stopped short just shy of the borders of the Forbidden Forest. Even where the underbrush was thin and light actually filtered through the skeletal, bare treetops, Remus' sensitive nose could pick out the myriad scents of death; a decaying corpse somewhere nearby (probably a weasel, judging by the blood-rich stink), decomposing leaves, cold earth frozen over and more remaining unidentified, limited as he was with a human's capabilities, never mind how enhanced they were.

He teetered at the edge; the call of the wild was irresistible, the palpable violence of the Forest calling like to like. But Remus was a responsible professor. And he was a wolf in essence. No matter that his sluggishly flowing blood longed to run unchecked under the bare trees and howl unfettered joy in the lust of the kill, his very wolfish traits forbid him to; Hogwarts was his territory. His cub resided within and needed his protection. Instincts aeons old urged him to ensure that no more predators lurked nearby, that his cub be kept safe and his territory remain his. So Remus gave the Forest one, wistful, backward glance and resolutely veered away, back to the castle though taking the route that had him skirting the lake's edge.

The grounds deemed free of enemies, Remus made his way to the Great Hall, exchanging greetings with the students he passed by. The mammoth wooden doors were open; a tradition for mealtimes at the school. All students were required to make an appearance for at least two meals of the day, though the house elves' ability to whip up a good spread ensured that they were rarely skipped. Keeping the doors closed would bean exercise in irritation as sleepy, rumpled and bleary-eyed students trickled in throughout the hour.

But this morning, coming after last night's attack in both the Slytherin and Gryffindor dormitories, provided an exception. The Gryffindors, from first up to seventh year, were conspicuously absent and the long, empty tables were a jarring, discordant note in the usual routine. Even the Slytherins proved to be pared to the bare minimum who looked as though they wished they were still snuggled up tight in their conjured sleeping bags; the shadows under their eyes caused Remus to wince and sigh gratefully that Dumbledore kept to his promise of cancelled classes. Sleep-deprived Slytherins were not healthy for one's sanity.

Remus, taking his seat even more carefully than usual (there was an expectant hush to the Hall, each occupant taking care to make as little noise as possible as Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs exchanged curious glances), leaned over, catching the diminutive Charms professor's attention.

"Filius?" Remus said in a low tone. He gave the Hall a glance before looking back to his colleague significantly . "What happened?"

Flitwick sighed gustily, setting down his fork and knife. His long beard wagged sadly as he answered, "Poppy told me almost the entire body ofGryffindor students and most of the Slytherins requested Dreamless Sleep potions. This double attack has shaken them up quite a bit."

Sprout, noting their topic of conversation jumped in with her own titbit. "I'll say," she sighed, casting a fond, protective eye over her charges. "Poppy has just about gone through her entire year's stock and had to raid Severus's as well. I'm going to have to plant more valerian for new batches. And it's only November!"

This in turn prompted the two Heads of Houses not affected by the onryo attack to compare notes of last night. Tuning them out and catching only the bare drift of their conversation, Remus saw that most of the professors were missing as well; Snape, Dumbledore, McGonagall and even Vector. And, Remus sighed internally, so were Takashi and Tsuzuki.

The werewolf reached absently for his usual cup of coffee; a new weakness inculcated by Takashi who had introduced him to the addictive wonders of Arabian mocha blend and since then, the house elves had made sure that he got a pot full every breakfast. But somehow, the coffee tasted flat today without the two Japanese professors he had grown accustomed to, and was even fond of.

Making up his mind even as he gulped down an unsatisfying shot of his daily caffeine boost, Remus surged to his feet, nodding silent goodbyes to the other professors.

He let his feet direct him and he was led to the staff room. The absence of noise from within warmed him that it might be empty but he pushed the door open anyway. Remus smiled. Luck was on his side as the door swung open to reveal Takashi by his desk, staring out of the window.

"Remus." The weariness in Takashi's voice stopped the werewolf in his tracks. He paused just inside the door, wondering if he would be welcome as Takashi had yet to turn away from the window. As for how the Japanese knew that it was he, Remus simply attributed it to some uncanny sixth sense.

"It's bloody unnerving when you do that, you do realise?" Remus said lightly. He let the door swing shut of its own accord and crossed the room unhurriedly. He forewent his own desk to perch his hip on the edge of Takashi's, just beside the professor who only acknowledged his presence with the barest flick of his eyes.

Up close, Remus had to contain a wince. Takashi looked as though he had spent a sleepless night. His face was pale, almost pasty-white, serving only to highlight the purple shadows under his eyes. His usually immaculate robes wore a hint of shabbiness today, the knot in his tie just slightly crooked.

"I thought the purpose of me escorting you back to your rooms last night was to make sure you got some rest," Remus scolded gently. He brushed a hand lightly across Takashi's cheek, a distant part of him surprised that the man had at least taken the initiative to shave that morning. Takashi's eyes fluttered, blurring the dark green and gold that writhed in shadows.

"My shikigami couldn't find them," Takashi whispered to his hand which still cupped the Japanese's cheek.

Remus froze, not daring to remove his hand as a part of him murmured that he was only comforting a distraught friend. "There's always Tsuzuki's," Remus said thickly.

A soft whoosh of warm air ghosted across his palm; Takashi laughing soundlessly. "My shikigami may be my own conjuration but it's as much Kyo's as it is mine. I have little hope that Tsuzuki can break through whatever ward it is that's hiding them from our sight."

Remus opened his mouth, intending to offer some vague comfort but he shut it with a snap. In his experience, platitudes did as much damage as they did help. Instead, he carefully inched his hand away from Takashi's cheek, resting it at the nape of the man's neck and he gently kneaded the tensed muscles there. "We'll find them, you can be sure of that," he said softly.

Takashi did not answer him.

Feeling more and more at lost, wondering just how he could help his friend, Remus decided to fall back on the old standby. He snapped his fingers, calling up a house elf and putting in an order for a pot of tea and scones. No sooner had he given such an order, than a tray popped up on Takashi's desk. Remus, with a soft sigh of regret he couldn't check, ceased massaging Takashi's neck and carefully poured his friend a cup, adding in a lump of sugar.

"Takashi?" he tried.

Takashi took the proffered cup, holding it between his hands and still not saying a word.

Remus set down his own cup and tried to catch Takashi's attention. "Listen, Dumbledore says that we—"

He reared back in surprise as Takashi shot to his feet and flung his cup against the wall. The porcelain smashed, smattering the stone with droplets of tea. With a strangled cry, Takashi spun around and swept the tray off his desk, catching his stack of seventh year essays and books, the whole lot flying off in a whirlwind of quill and parchment. Remus stumbled to his feet, caught in shock at the sudden display of fury but he quickly got himself together and as Takashi was about to upend his desk next, Remus trapped the enraged man in his arms, holding on tight.

"No!" Takashi shouted. "Let—just let me go!"

"Calm down!" Remus shook Takashi hard. "Losing control is not going to bring Kyo back!"

It was to his own surprise when just as suddenly as Takashi had erupted into a rage, the taller Japanese sagged in his arms, forcing Remus to catch his weight before the both of them fell. Gently, he lowered himself and Takashi on to the floor, cradling the man close.

Takashi did not cry, but instead he buried his face in his hands, shaking uncontrollably. "I can't do this anymore," he said wretchedly.

"Do what, Takashi?" Remus whispered.

Takashi lifted his head, looking Remus straight in the eyes. "This," he answered in a hoarse voice. "I'm tired of not being there when Kyo needs me. We've given so much, just for the sake of our duty. I've watched Kyo getting hurt over and over again. We've done everything Enma has ever asked of us and I'm sick of being used and manipulated like this."

Remus floundered, unsure of what to say. Takashi's lessons in Defense had given the impression that onmyoujitsu was a choice, a profession rather than what you were born into, as wizards and witches were. But this heartbroken confession from a tired man showed another side. Of carrying out an obligation that was wearing his friend down to the bone and stirring sympathetic echoes in the werewolf's own soul. How many times had he himself lain awake, staring up at the ceiling and thinking _'No more. No more running and hiding and putting up with the prejudice and stigma of being a werewolf, all for the sake of the Order'?_ How many nights had he asked himself why he kept on going when his mate was gone?

"You could," Remus flushed dully at how raspy his voice was, "You could quit. Give up your position as a. . .as a _yamabushi__._" And he could not keep out the deep longing evident in his words for himself to do just that. To give up and let go.

Takashi tensed up in his arms and just as quickly, drooped. His body was trembling in laughter, Remus realized. Laughter that was devoid of mirth. A full minute of Takashi shaking like that made Remus wonder whether he had inadvertently put his foot in his mouth, though he was puzzled as to how advising someone to quit their job could be so funny.

"I'm sorry," Takashi sighed, his empty merriment dying away. He covered Remus's brown hands with his own light amber ones, squeezing gratefully. "I just. . ." he cleared his throat, looking away.

Remus bumped his friend's shoulder lightly. "Just what?"

Takashi turned back, giving him a genuinely sad, weary smile. "I just wish it was that easy."

* * *

Voldemort was laughing. Unexpectedly painful, the sound sent a shudder through Kyo, and completely without meaning to, he met the Dark wizard's eyes. The sound sharpened into a sword's thrust, sending him flinching back against stones slimy with condensation. He fought to get his breathing under control, his head throbbing in reaction to the sudden exertion. As quickly as it had come, the panicky surge of adrenaline was gone, leaving him weak and trembling as he swayed unsteadily on his knees. The room twisted dizzily around him and he closed his eyes, seeking to center himself. There was something in those eyes, something unpleasant and alien that turned the tremors into a full out seizure of panic. The dimness of failing vision obscured even the radiant patch on the ceiling overhead. But those undead eyes were a sun in his blurred vision; a merciless blaze that drowned out all else. The now silent Dark wizard waved his wand and the ends of their bindings slithered out of the stone floor to coil negligently around his skeletal fingers.

"What does that old fraud Dumbledore see in you, I wonder?" Soft, musing. . .it cut like jagged ice and burned across his ears. Kyo choked back a gasping whimper. Everything was spinning, turning black. There was fire everywhere, agony in fine lace up his forearms and piercing the back of his skull. Pressure. . .a fiery touch that skipped across his mind, like and unlike Hisoka's empathy. Harsh and scornful, yet tasting of. . .the taste of. . .But, no, whatever the memory was, it was gone. Instead, there was a familiar pressure, gentle, and a heart and soul that he knew well. Kyo gratefully let it wrap around him.

There was a discernible flash of ire in the gleaming red eyes but the Dark Lord had barely taken a step towards him when Hisoka darted in front of Kyo, shielding his frightened friend with his own smaller body. Voldemort paused, considering. But the blond did nothing more than to cup the black haired boy's face with his cold hands.

The warm flow helped center Kyo, bringing order to the black turmoil of his mind, control stopping its descent. He revelled in that brief moment of sanity but the constant black hole presence of Voldemort just at the edge of his awareness hammered in the fact that he was treading thin ice. Already impatience was narrowing Voldemort's glare and Kyo quickly straightened, fighting valiantly to hold on to his returned composure.

There was a detached curiosity in those ruby red eyes as Voldemort tugged at the hairs he held, clearly wanting them out of their little corner. It was a gentle pull, almost kind, but nevertheless, the wire-like hairs dug into their skin and scarlet lines erupted. Rising, Hisoka stumbled, caught surprised by the pain, but without complaint he stepped out of their little huddle. Even as he complied with the unspoken command, Kyo saw that his friend hadn't given up, not by the set of his shoulders and the stubborn gleam he knew lit the green depths of Hisoka's eyes. Kyo didn't try to fight then and neither did Hisoka. There was something about the bindings that not only were their magic suppressed to the point of non-existence, but Kyo actually felt physically weak. He still couldn't get rid of the minute tremors that shook him head to toe in sporadic bursts. It was with some envy that he realised Hisoka was actually faring better than he was. Better in that the blond empath didn't look like he was going to fall down in a faint if the Dark Lord should even glance his way. Another tug dragged at them.

"No," Kyo whimpered, a pathetic sound that he loathed with all his being but the thought of coming closer to the light-sucking void that called itself Lord Voldemort scared him like no thought of another Akuma could. He tried to curl himself in, to make a smaller target. Nothing Enma-sama or Ami Shiina had said could have prepared him for this. Hisoka's wordless reassurance again flooded in, providing an anchor.

"What do you want?" Kyo croaked out.

Interest sparked; Voldemort was intrigued by the quick turnabout and his eyes lingered unpleasantly on the hand Hisoka still kept on Kyo's shoulder.

"I really don't think you're in the position to ask that, are you?" His voice, Kyo noted with another shudder, was the spitting and hissing of water on hot coals; dark sibilance that coiled around you and painted images too horrific to contemplate. "Now move, my little Japanese. We have work to attend to."

He obviously intended for them to precede him, and with obvious reluctance, they did, carefully edging away from him but another jerk forced Hisoka to drop his reassuring contact. The tidal wave of icy fear that hit Kyo almost caused his knees to buckle; in fact, he was about to but quick as a snake, Voldemort was beside him, thin yet strong fingers twisting his hair in a painful clench.

"Do you want your friend to die that much faster?"

Kyo staggered to his feet, sweat dripping from his face to splatter on the floor. He shook his head numbly, ignoring Hisoka's beseeching look and marshalled all the strength he possessed just to stand straight.

Again, Voldemort prodded them and they moved out of the cell, to be flanked on both sides by black robed wizards, white masks covering their faces. Death Eaters, Kyo realised and he felt almost sickening relief at their presence; needing their humanity to counterbalance the wrongness that was Voldemort. How he wished desperately that he had the talent of empathy to shield himself from the cancerous blight that was their Master. Hisoka's brief touch was not enough. He longed to hide in the blond boy's protective embrace, for the Dark Lord was the antithesis of a Shinigami; the very abomination that was a god of death's duty to prevent.

_How could they? _Kyo thought numbly as he automatically followed their guards through twisting corridors, up staircases, into majestically appointed hallways and past rooms that would have put the grandeur of Hogwarts' Great Hall to shame. _How could the Tuatha allow this. . .this desecration to happen? Why didn't they stop him before he got this far?_

He looked around dazedly as they were brought into a room markedly smaller than the ones they passed by. The tall shelves disappearing into corniced plaster ceiling, leather armchairs scattered throughout and the fortress of a mahogany desk in a corner led him to believe that they were brought to a private study.

But it was the enormous mirror that drew Kyo's gaze, distracting him from even the presence of the Dark Lord. He barely noticed shadowy furniture pushed back into the chamber's corners, didn't even register that another figure had joined the evil wizard.

The mirror was a void; a hole in the universe leading to some alternate dimension. And he didn't know whether to be scared silly and cower, or to try to leap through its door-like frame.

Kyo felt Hisoka tense marginally somewhere behind his back, and knew that while they might be bound and helpless, his friend was not going down without a fight. The realization brought with it a tiny measure of calm, driving back the mindless confusion that threatened to gobble up his rational, thinking side. So long as Hisoka was there, things would be all right, right? They had gotten out of plenty of messes worse than this one, and done so in one piece.

But there was always a first time for everything. Even failure. Even second death.

He blinked rapidly, fighting off the tears that gathered at the corners of his eyes, and concentrated on the mirror instead.

The thing stood taller than a man, a heavy, rectangular outline of wrought iron that enclosed a dully gleaming surface. Half-seen reflections of things that weren't there skittered across polished hematite, the darkened silver promising moonless nights and cold fog within its boundaries. Kyo took a step closer, compelled by a damned mortal's curiosity to know the unknowable, to see what ought to be left unseen. Twisting forms that might be winter barren trees, or maybe the tortured limbs of the dead, hovered beneath the slick surface. The young man inched closer. Pale glimmers that might be reflections of the room's candles, or possibly the cold faces of the damned, shone wanly in the mirror's depths. He was half aware of Hisoka's hastily indrawn breath behind his back.

The surreal landscape within the mirror's reflections beckoned. Kyo felt reality shift. This time, it was his heart that took the final step, leaving behind the shell of his body. He barely noticed the avid regard of two sets of eyes, one smoldering fire, and the other, winter sky gray.

* * *

_Broken sky like jagged glass met spiked earth. The land barren, gray and dust-stirred. Kyo wanted to break the oppressive silence that pressed physically down on him; a tangible yet invisible tomb boxing him in a world where endless skies and land hurt the eye for want of a boundary._

Where am I? _he__ called out and his voice was silence within silence. The shadow-felt trees did not heed his cry, twisted fingers reaching for a sky that ignored its entreaty. He was but a mote upon the landscape, the trees, rocks and sand said. Just as they were insignificant in a land where reality seemed nothing more than cardboard cut-outs pasted on a dingy canvas._

Yasas, Shinigami. _Welcome, gods of death._

_He whirled around on feet that did not pattern the shifting sands. She was waiting behind him, an indifferent smile gracing unearthly radiance. A goddess.___

_She could not be anything but. _

_It was her beauty that announced her immortal status; a beauty that pierced straight to the heart and defied mortal's words. She was dressed in a light chiffon dress, fastened at the shoulders with brooches that sparkled in this place where there was no sun, and falling in languid folds to her bare feet, swaying in a wind that did not blow. Her skin was a dusky olive that spoke of sun-kissed lands, her dark curls crowning her head and covered with a loose white cloth that cascaded to her shoulders. All at once she was beyond anything that the mind could perceive and yet, she was as real as he. _

Who are you? _he__ asked, and fear was in his heart. It was not for the fact that she was a goddess, an almost instinctive knowledge, but for the power that she wielded. He did not want to know._

_She answered him. _Ime o Alatheia.

_Her voice echoed, rebounded, skittered and crawled. It was all around him and more. It seeped into his skin and turned blood into ice water. Within her words were more words; a voice within a voice and what it said was what scared him._

I am Truth.

No! _he__ gasped. He wanted to run, to flee but there was nowhere to go. He was in her domain within the Mirror and under her thrall. The pressure beating against his mind intensified, and the echoes with the eerie voice converged._

Do you fear me? _she__ asked, and the other voice echoed; _Do you fear Truth? __

_He shook his head slowly, wanting nothing more than to crumple to the ground and block his ears like a little child. _Mortals are not meant to know the Truth, _he answered hoarsely and the goddess' smile dimmed, turning to sorrow deeper than the night sky._

And yet you speak the Truth, _she said quietly. _I fled here when men created lies to blind themselves to what is true. For I am that and nothing more than that. _She took one step closer and for her, the sands changed shape; the pattern of a delicate footstep emerging. _But you are a god of death. You are not mortal. You are beyond and you are less. Yours is a truth that bends time and history. Won't you listen?

_Pain burst into life in the base of his skull and in his beating heart. He fell to his knees and through his graying vision, saw the hem of stainless white robes dusting bare feet come closer. There was something inside him, something that recognized the goddess Alatheia and the chords struck formed complete melodies that threatened to shatter him._

No! _he__ shouted through the pain. _No! I—I'm not- _a thin shriek escaped him and that blossoming supernova inside of him was on the edge of consuming him whole. But at the edge of the precipice, __fluid energy uncurled into a joyous rush that leapt across the gap between them as __slim arms encircled him and dragged him away from the waiting Alatheia. A __heady sweetness twined between his fingers and stole up his wrists. He shuddered at the embrace that seeped through his skin, enveloping him in warm colors that were a tangible touch__. The intense pain diminished with each step taken farther away from her and the burning sun died down to a sullen ember._

My Lady! _It was Hisoka. Hisoka with him in this realm within the Mirror. _My Lady, we beg you, leave us be! Please!

God of death. _She followed them, one step taken for each of theirs. _Don't you want to know the Truth?

_The pain blazed into life and Kyo howled in agony. He tried to contain the screaming monster in his head from clawing out of his skull and chewing though his heart. He didn't know what it was but he knew for sure that should it be let out, he would be destroyed. Destroyed beyond even Enma's recall and he would drag Takashi down with him. And the thought of Takashi dying at the hands of this invisible beast which promised destruction even with its mere touch, Kyo threw his head back and he shouted defiance to the goddess._

Alatheia! _he__ screamed and he didn't hear his own double echo whose fury shook the jagged sky. _Release us or I will destroy you!

_The world cracked._

* * *

Their captives lay in a twitching mass on the carpeted floor, sweat staining the three hundred year old weaving but the Lord of the Manor paid it no heed. His steel grey eyes were fixed on his Lord who was leaning against the mahogany desk, a casual gesture that seemed at odds for a creature that was no longer human. The red eyes that haunted his every waking thought and lit his every darkest dreams were contemplative. They flicked from the dark Mirror to the two boys crumpled on the floor, oblivion claiming them.

"Interesting," Voldemort murmured. "Don't you think so, Lucius?"

Malfoy nodded cautiously, unsure what to say. While the Japanese were enthralled by the Mirror of Alatheia, the Goddess of Truth, the dark silvered surface of the glass had shown the wizards the 'truth' of their identities, stripping the boys to their bare powers and uncovered by pretensions and images formed by the conscious mind.

The reflections that unfurled had struck grudging respect and maybe even a hint of awe from Lucius. In fact, something in his chest had lurched unexpectedly at the sight of the younger boy. Stunning. . .he was simply stunningly beautiful. The blond one's reflection, 'Kurosaki' the brat had growled, wore layers of antique kimonos, each one a different shade of green, or peach, or black. Embroidery shone against the smooth richness of silk, colors trembling with the steady rise and fall of his chest. A closed fan was thrust through his knotted sash, his right hand holding a stalk of reed and the hilt of a sword visible between the open folds of the outermost kimono, that layer's vibrant jade green embroidered with the sword blade petals of tall, cream-white iris. Translucent pale skin shimmered with power that gathered like an extra set of robes around his slender frame and Lucius knew without doubt that the blond boy was a force to be reckoned with. The shimmering cloak of power puzzled him though, pulsating like an aura but not.

It was his Lord who enlightened him, saying in a low voice, "So I was right. The boy is an empath."

He had turned to Voldemort in surprise; true empaths were rare in the wizarding world, Legilimens and Occlumens like servants to royalty. But the Dark Lord chided him with a look and he turned back to the Mirror which showed then the other boy, Shiozaki's reflection.

And if his breath hitched at the ethereal image of Kurosaki, Shiozaki's was like a punch to the guts.

The boy's ebony locks were like strokes of ink on the palest cheeks, his face in calm repose. He was dressed in kimonos as well, richly embroidered in shades of white deepening to an outer layer of sun kissed gold. He had no sword but held in his two hands a stalk of reed as well. But what grabbed the eye, forcing awe and maybe even a frisson of fear, were the four animals surrounding Shiozaki.

A red phoenix was to his right, large wings splayed and tail fanned to full plumage. A pure white tiger with charcoal black markings lay purring by his feet while a serpentine blue dragon coiled its length around them and it was then that Lucius realize that the boy himself was sitting on a huge black tortoise with a pockmarked shell.

"Morgana's bastards!" he breathed.

The Dark Lord shushed him impatiently with one skeletal hand. Another image was forming behind and above the boy. Pale mist drew together to solidify into human shape; a woman with hair that equaled the dragon's length. Watery colors gave depth to the woman though her hair remained white as snow. She hovered behind the boy and to the wizards' perplexity, covered Shiozaki's eyes with her hands. Her own head was bowed, whether in grief, sadness or joy it remained a mystery and her river of hair curtained her face from view.

They saw the complete image of Shiozaki for only a few seconds before the Mirror's surface flashed brightly and the two Japanese had crumpled to the floor without a sound. That had happen a few minutes ago, with the silence finally broken by the Dark Lord.

"What do you think, Lucius?" a wry smile curved the lipless mouth, causing the disfigured aristocrat to frown. He himself wasn't sure of what the last image meant; the Mirror worked by symbolism and it irked Lucius to admit that he didn't know what to make of it.

His distress must have shone through for his Master to prompt him with a sharp, "Use the brains you have, Lucius. It is obvious to the most novice wizard."

Anger burned through Lucius, whether aimed at himself, or his Lord, he did not dare analyze. "The phoenix is a firebird," he said slowly, articulating his thoughts as he went, "Found in most mythologies as a symbol of rebirth. Represents the element of fire."

"There may be hope for you yet, my Lucius."

He flushed, the red a splotchy mix that sat ill with the scars on his face. "The dragon is a water species, closely related to the _naga_. . . ." he faltered. "The tiger and the tortoise. . .forgive me, my Lord," he sketched a quick bow. "But my knowledge is that of a child's compared to yours."

The Dark Lord's brief annoyance disappeared with his amusement at Lucius's quick appeasement. "You do know the right things to say, most of the time. But I did not expect you to know what it all meant. I myself knew about it through my efforts to understand Dr. Muraki's journals." His wand flicked out, phosphorescence fire trailing from the tip. As he spoke, his wand drew glimmering figures in the air, painting the symbols of the cardinal directions.

"Attend me, Lucius," he said sharply. "The ancient Chinese used the moon's orbit to mark the passing of the seasons. Seiryu, the blue dragon of the east represents spring and the water element. Suzaku, the phoenix of the south, represents summer and the fire element. Byakko, the white tiger of the west for fall and air and Genbu, the black tortoise of the north, for winter and earth."

He paused, waiting for the implication to sink in. Barely a moment later, Lucius' storm dark eyes widened and he allowed his cool mask of indifference to fall, showing shock.

"He is an elemental mage," Lucius whispered. He looked down to the seemingly frail boy at his feet, trying to match the revelation with the figure. "And he controls all four." But then a thought struck him and he gestured at the darkened Mirror. "But what of that woman?"

"A puzzle, still," his Master admitted but the Dark Lord refused to be swayed from his new prize. "An elemental mage who commands the four elements!" A soft hiss of laughter accompanied it and Voldemort glided on soundless feet to stand before the Japanese. "That senile fool who calls himself Headmaster has given us the perfect weapon. He will be the key to bring down Hogwarts and everything it symbolizes."

A matching smile, equally lacking in humanity and compassion twisted Lucius' scarred face. His wand was in his hand without thought, eagerness vibrating through the slim length of wood. "How do you propose to begin, my Lord?" he asked, the only sign of his excitement the lightening of dull slate eyes and the gloved hand that yet clutched his wand.

"Patience, Lucius," the Dark Lord murmured. He kneeled down, studying the unconscious figure of Shiozaki. "Our spy is sure of the friendship between these Japanese and Potter?"

"She is, my Lord."

"Very good." Voldemort got back to his feet, wand now held with purpose. "I believe that I've neglected dear Harry for quite some time. We should rectify that, don't you agree, Lucius?"

A feral smile was his answer.

_"Enervate!"_

* * *

**to**** be continued**

* * *

**Courtesy of Lisa/Librarycat:**

_Yasas_ - Plural of "Hello" in modern Greek.

_Ime__ o Alatheia =_ _I am Alatheia. _

Behind the significance of Hisoka's kimono:

Ayame: In Japan, irises are symbols of heroism. The iris plays a key role in the Japanese spring festival for boys, because of its blue color, which suggests "blue blood". (1) Iris are sometimes called "shoubu" which has the same sound as the words for "toward" and "warrior". This is why the iris also suggests heraldry and royalty.

In rural parts of Japan, the roof iris (Iris tectorum) is believed to give protection from storms and typhoons and was therefore frequently planted in roofs. (2) Another kind of iris, the kakitsubata, signal the presence of shallow water and the low lying plank bridges, yatsuhashi. This kind of iris is the most celebrated in Japanese art. (3)

In China, the iris is believed to ward off evil spirits and diseases. Disease-fighting ceremonies were held on the fifth day of the fifth lunar month, which always included the iris. (4)

Sources:

1. _angelfire . com / journal2 / flowers / i.html_

2. _homepage1 . nifty . com / shorinji /entgrad . htm#tango_

3. Baird, M. Symbols of Japan: Thematic Motifs in Art and Design. New York: Rizzoli, 2001 Pg. 84.

4. Ibid. Pg. 85.

Lisa changed Hisoka's iris to white because that color signifies death.

**Courtesy of Kelly:**

Meaning of colors for Japanese:

_three-musketeers . net / mike / colors . html_

About the Four Guardians of the Night Sky:

_animeinfo . org / featured / fy / fylegend . html_

This site is a good resource for Shinto and Buddhism information and the Four Guardians as well. Nothing too heavy but good enough.

_onmarkproductions . com / html / ssu-ling . html_

Mirror of Alatheia:

My own creation. Alatheia was the Goddess of Truth in Greek mythology. Information on her was graciously provided by Lisa.

1. "The Complete Fables" by Aesop ; translated by Olivia and Robert Temple ; with an introduction by Robert Temple. New York ; London : Penguin, 1998.

2. _theoi . com / Kronos / Alatehia . html_

From pg. 573, _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire._


	30. Chapter 30:Something wicked this way com...

**Title: **When Death Comes a'Knocking: Book 1 – Of Revelations

**Plot Mistresses: **Shiozaki, Shaynie, Librarycat, Literary Eagle

**Spell Researchers: **Fellow wizards, witches & omnyouji at my Yahoo!Group

**Scene Masters: **Shiozaki and Librarycat

**Beta-d by: **Librarycat

**Tenshiamanda****, Nekoki Yakkai, cmquietone, Joonie, WolfPilot06, Tatsuken, hitomibishop: **You know why you rock and why I love you all so much.

I would like to apologise here for the late update. I had a nasty flu and cough last week, delaying my efforts to write and even now, only just got back from a family holiday. Though, for me, any holiday that means internet deprivation really isn't much of a holiday. . . .

To apologise, as well as to prepare for the what-might-be slow updates in the future as my new semester starts on the 21st June, please expect Chapter 31 to be uploaded by mid-next week if possible. Again, so sorry!

* * *

** Chapter 30**

** Something wicked this way comes**

* * *

Even before he opened his eyes, Harry knew he wasn't in Gryffindor Tower anymore. Instead of the familiar cottony softness of his bed, his cheek was resting on something thick and plush. He ran his fingers blindly over the strange material, startled to find his fingers running through the fabric instead of over it. It reminded him of the time when he was nine, and Aunt Petunia had brought him and Dudley to the local carpet store, trying to replace the one in the living room Dudley had spoiled in a fit of temper.

The store had fascinated him; stacked sideways and knee-deep with carpets in colors and patterns that fired the imagination of a young child. Running his fingers through one, 'Persian,' the sign proclaimed, Harry had thought that the carpet would make his cupboard warmer in the winter, only to have Aunt Petunia cuff him hard around the ear when the saleswoman had turned away. __

"None of your freakiness here!" she had hissed and Dudley had snickered gleefully.

_Did I sleepwalk? _Harry's thoughts were fuzzy at best, his struggle to reorient himself a Herculean effort. He knew that the carpet in the common room wasn't this soft or thick; countless feet had rubbed the weaving bare in some spots. His eyelids felt as though thousand-pound weights were attached to them and his limbs did not fare much better.

So when the Cruciatus curse hit him, Harry could only arch his back and scream.

It was at this point that the little voice, which acted as a detached bystander always offering good advice or astute commentary, decided to make itself heard. Predictably, as if it wanted to be ignored in the intensity of the moment (such as during the disaster that was his asking Cho Chang to the Yule Ball, or when Hermione begged him to stop and think instead of rushing off to play the hero), it spoke up in the midst of his being cursed with an Unforgiveable.

_Not a full-strength Cruciatus, _it remarked quietly even as his fingers scrabbled for purchase, yielding fibers sliding through uselessly. _Doesn't feel like Lestrange's. Voldemort's? Must be a vision then._

When the hot-knife-slicing-through-butter pain of the Cruciatus finally let go, Harry gasped futilely for breath; even a mild _Crucio _was more than anyone could easily handle and his lungs were proving that, the strain showing as black spots that danced tantalizingly in his vision.

"Who sent you here?"

_I was right. It is Voldemort. _But the Dark Lord's question puzzled him. How else would he be here if not through another machination of the Ghoul-That-Refused-To-Stay-Dead? __

But another voice, uncomfortably close to his ear, wet and ragged from overexposure to the pain curse, answered.

"Fuck you."

_"Crucio."___

This time, Harry used the flaying knives that ripped his muscles to pieces as an incentive to open his eyes.

His earlier observation was right, that disconnected voice was commenting idly; he was lying on a rich carpet, probably worth more than Uncle Vernon's entire year's wages could afford. Anything else beyond that island of wool vanished in towering darkness and the only way he could tell that he wasn't lost in space was the disembodied hissing that was Voldemort, just beyond his range of vision. When the curse finally let go, he slumped on his side, chest heaving, to come face to face with Kyo.

The tight feeling in his chest had nothing to do with the after effects of the Cruciatus. Kyo looked terrible, his white t-shirt sticky with sweat, a thin trickle of blood running down the side of his mouth, almost certainly due to a bitten tongue. The Japanese's eyes, usually so expressive in showing joy or mischief, were clouded over with pain and his breathing was as ragged as Harry's, if not even more so having been exposed to the curse fully.

Seeing his friend whom he had come to love dearly beaten down and helpless gave Harry strength. He pushed himself up with shaky arms that trembled under his weight, and even that small action nearly caused him to faint. He was barely on his knees, trying to stop the carpet from whirling merrily round and round when Voldemort spoke again, sending jolting pain through his scar.

"Your tenacity is amusing," was the sibilant comment.Kyo spat out blood on to the pristine white of the carpet; the dark-phlegm liquid almost a desecration of the purity of the woven wool, and that voice that wouldn't shut up thought; _What__ a shame. Bet they won't be able to get that stain out_. "But maybe your friend would be more accommodating?"

It was like trying to move through jell-o, the seconds slipping by like prehistoric monsters as he fought to move his head even an inch. Seeing Hisoka just beside him, curled up and shaking as well from his own encounter with an Unforgiveable brought time rushing to catch up with reality and sharpened the fuzziness of his vision, glasses or no. There was something in that curved line of the blond's shoulders, the way spun-gold hair was dampened and clumped like cotton dipped in amber, and how moonlight-touched skin was red and raw in some places from self-inflicted scratches that tore into him. It could be his saving people mode kicking in, or perhaps he was just damn tired of being helpless as Voldemort hurt the ones he loved and who loved him in return. Whatever it was, Harry felt a snarl working its way up from his very guts, rumbling deep in his throat.

He looked up sharply, not even wincing as the sudden movement caused spiked hammers to drum a tune behind his eyeballs.

Blazing green met red and from the darkness, a line of deeper black carved itself into existence.

"Harry."

A wand materialized from the shadows as well; a length of yew twirled in lazy patterns as Dark Lord and Boy-Who-Lived engaged in a contest of wills. Harry's scar throbbed anew, a zigzag of molten fire as each used Legilimency and Occlumency in return; one fighting for a foothold in, another using all his strength to drive the other out.

"You've grown stronger," the Dark Lord admitted, his red-coal eyes narrowing into slits. "Tell me, when will you grace us with your presence once again? We have much to talk about, you and I. . . ." The wand ceased its languid spirals to jab the air in one sharp motion. "Prophecies for one. Such a cumbrance for a teenager, don't you think? Mayhap I will be able to shoulder that burden for you?"

_In your dreams! _he spat out, refusing to give way as the needle-point of pain tried to burrow its way deep into where the knowledge of the Prophecy was hidden.

"Ah, but that's where I'm afraid you're mistaken, dear Harry. You're the one dreaming, not I."

The yew wand sliced the shadows, writing a story that was summed up in two sinuous strokes. In answer, darkness rippled and gave birth to two shadows that bulked at the edge of the island of carpet.

"Avery, McNair. Entertain our guests, if you'd please."

The shadows bowed in obeisance and reached out for one Japanese boy each. Harry tried to stop them but his hands passed through their flesh, tingling when his ghostly touch met the deep black strands that bound his friends. Instinctive reaction warned him of the wrongness of the ill-looking and seemingly fragile threads as he almost collapsed again. _No! _he shouted, but it made no difference. He could only watch helplessly as Kyo and Hisoka were sucked into the waiting maw of Death Eaters and writhing darkness. As the last bit of pale skin streaked with red and lines of revolting black disappeared, he snapped his head around, meeting Voldemort's fully with defiance raging within him.

_You'll pay for this, _he hissed and even his detached observer had nothing to say when the hate that echoed through his warning rang with similar tones to those of the Dark Lord himself. _I'll make you regret this if it's the last thing I do!_

A slow, feral smile was his only answer as Harry used the last reserves of his strength to break Voldemort's hold on his mind. The carpet resumed its demented merry-go-round dance as his body flew up and back, the vision shrinking away to be sucked into the gloom and it was only then that he realized that the carpet that he had been so fascinated with was not at all pure and pristine A crest marred its clean color. A crest bearing an odd, elaborate device that was both a sword and a cross, reversed against a field of maroon, the family motto stitched in elegant curves around the edge.

As he felt himself succumb to gathering dimness of his vision, Harry had one fleeting thought, sharp and wry for he had seen that crest once, and it had stuck in his mind. For Draco Malfoy had long been a constant in his life and it was only natural that he remembered the utter irony of the Malfoy's family motto that summed up what being a scion of that House required:

_Intermerata__ Fides._

Faith Undefiled.

* * *

The image was beautiful; monochrome shades of silver, like an Ansel Adams photograph made three dimensional, and Snape shivered involuntarily. He had never liked Memory Charms, although Merlin knew that he had certainly cast more than his fair share, both as one of the Dark Lord's sycophants, and later as the Side of Light's pet spy. But this. . . this lay in some peculiar hinterland between Pensieve and Legilimency, and it was more disturbing than either. Worse still, he had volunteered for this pillaging of his memories.

In the swirling mist that hovered above the Headmaster's desk, he saw and heard himself; dark and vibrating with sarcasm and controlled anger, roiling emotions that were directed as much against himself as the boy shivering in the chair before him. His remembered self leaned forward, hands splayed on the cold stone surface of his work table; "Do you know what it means to be a captive of the Dark Lord?" His voice was a harsh, goading whisper.

"Yes," the boy croaked. "Yes, I know. Sir."

"Then you'll realize that your friends are merely waiting for their turn. The Dark Lord may even provide you with front row seats for the show." The nastiness of it made Snape's gut twist; he had promised to be gentle, and instead, listen to what he had done.

The student, the _child_ entrusted to him, shrank beneath the weight of the older man's mental assault, hunching his child's shoulders inward, frantic to find an escape route, too damned young to deserve being thrust into this purgatory of heroism. Then some hidden reserve of desperate strength brought Harry's hand up between them, thrown out in a warding gesture.

Harry's _empty_ hand.

_"Expelliarmus!"_

The slim length of walnut wrenched itself from Snape's hand, and he felt himself grasp after it, again a split second too slow, as it snapped into that waiting, _empty_ Gryffindor palm. What a surprise it had been to feel shaken, to have the seemingly-impregnable mask that he maintained so fastidiously crack at last, over such a bizarre event. A shaky smile curled Harry's lip, even as Snape summoned a glare that was far from being up to his usual standards.

He held out a hand, saying coldly, "My wand, Potter." And, flushed with that strange mix of embarrassment and childish bravado, Harry quickly gave up the wand he had appropriated.

"_Finite Incantatum._" Dumbledore murmured quietly, and the lovely, luminous mist dissipated. The old wizard pinched the bridge of his nose hard. "Well. That was certainly interesting, Severus."

"Interesting?!" The Potions Master fought down the urge to explode, an irrational scowl stealing across his features. He rallied sufficiently to sneer in the direction of a half-open door, and beyond that, clearly visible in the cool twilight of the next room, a tight huddle of robes and tousled hair that occupied a chintz sofa that had been transfigured into a day bed. The infuriating brat had managed wandless offensive magic, and the best that Dumbledore could manage was _interesting_?

The Headmaster made a clucking noise, no doubt intending to distract the younger professor, but something else beat him to it; as Snape glared at the object of his ire, he saw the sleeping figure spasm with unmistakable, searing agony. The Cruciatus. Somewhere, some_one_ was being tortured. A single high, keening wail burst from the boy as his back arched up, threatening to dislocate hips, and spine and shoulders in a vain attempt to get as far away from the source of his pain as possible. Snape was out of his chair and running before he quite registered why.

As the next spasm bent the small body in another painful looking bow, the Potions professor was already by the child's side, the Headmaster only a step behind. His long-fingered hands grasped the thin shoulders encased in sweat-soaked robes tightly, handspan covering more than it should for a boy of sixteen years. Even as he fought to control the boy's seizures, Dumbledore catching the flailing legs, Snape managed to trap Harry's wide open eyes, glazed over with pain and the pupils dilated with vision thrall.

He wasn't prepared to have his spear thrust of Legilimency broken so completely however.

With a gasp, Snape fell back on his rump; a truly hilarious moment had it been a time for levity and the Headmaster shot him a look of alarm, still holding on to Harry. The boy keened once more, body falling back on to the bed with a whimper.

"Severus?" the urgency in the Headmaster's voice made Snape shake his head sharply, as much to clear it as to deny what had happened. ****

"His shields are in place." The bewilderment was just as out of character as the comical fall but also not laughable. The worry that deepened the lines around his mouth was echoed in like by Dumbledore, though a knowing glint was in those sky blue eyes. "Albus," he said, his cutting tone not lending any endearment to the name. "Potter's Occlumency shield is intact. The Dark Lord should not have been able to pull him into a vision. You know something."

Dumbledore's beard drooped wearily, his wrinkled hands changing their grip to gently pat the boy's knees, Harry lying quiescent though the open eyes and erratic breathing proved that he was still caught in the jaws of a vision. "I suspected it," the Headmaster said slowly, still patting Harry's knee like the senile old man image he so loved to project. "I feared that the bond forged through the curse scar would still be liable to manipulation, even with Occlumency. He won't be susceptible to another possession," he added sorrowfully. "But he will still suffer from visions purposely sent by Voldemort."

The flinch was more of an automatic reaction; Snape being too caught up in the Headmaster's latest revelation. "Then why bother raising the child's hopes when you knew this might happen?!" he exploded. He surged to his knees, catching one of Harry's limp wrists, checking the pulse even as he continued his tirade.

"You very well promised him that Occlumency would solve his troubles!" The younger wizard chanced a quick snarl. Harry's pulse was weak, but steady. A good sign. That meant it wasn't a full-strength Cruciatus at the very least. "Are you _trying _to make the boy hate you?"

"It was necessary, Severus," Dumbledore answered him quietly. "I needed him to master Occlumency to make sure of my suspicions. I feel no pleasure to be proven right," he finished in an almost whisper.

Snape did not answer him vocally; his thinned, pursed lips were enough as he continued to monitor Harry's vital signs. Without warning, Harry launched into another scream, nearly knocking the Headmaster off and one hand came dangerously near to giving the Potions Master a black eye. Fortunately, this attack was mercifully short and Snape and the Headmaster released sighs of relief simultaneously.

"There is nothing we can do?" The question was rhetorical. A curse scar, from an Avada Kedavra no less, had no precedent. Harry's _was _the precedent and youngest Potions Master of the century though he was, he had no ready answer, nor a shadow of a hint of even where to begin looking for a way to sever the connection forged between Dark Lord and child. He suspected that only true death would be the cure.

"None," Dumbledore sighed.

They each waited vigil and time chose to slow to a crawl; an all too familiar phenomena from his days of playing stakeout. The waiting before _something _happened was always the hardest and this did not prove the exception. The fact that it was James Potter's son whom he fretted over (and his lips curled disdainfully at this) was not lost on him. But old hatreds are hard to get rid of, even when the boy was slowly beginning to develop his own identity outside of his father's so-called popularity and his mother's sacrifice. The mangy dog's death had, in a way, been good for the boy. It tore the last veils from the child's eyes and made him see the world for what it was; a cruel, unforgiving place that made no distinction between the good and the bad. And, Snape had to admit rather grumpily to himself, the Japanese's influence was also evident, even within such a short time. He had never seen children with such poise and self-control. They were restrained in their actions; though the black haired Shiozaki was the more voluble of the two, he saw past the bright laughter to the awareness that hid behind light eyes twinkling with amusement. Each moment of levity was carefully orchestrated and controlled, designed in such a way so as to put the situation to their advantage.

Inevitably, it had rubbed off on Harry who was as much their shadow as they were his. The boy had a grudgingly admired command on his emotions now, better than the year before, and he was quieter. Though may Morgana cut his tongue out and stew it in bubotuber pus before he admitted such a thing out loud.

A gasp brought Snape back to the here and now. Green eyes blinked once, dispelling tears which ran down his pale cheeks heedlessly and the boy grabbed his forearms in a surprisingly strong grip.

"I did it," he croaked. Snape idly made a mental note to give the boy something to ease his throat later. "I did it."

"Did what, Potter?" Snape asked gruffly, eyebrow raised pointedly to where Harry's small hands still clutched him.

The child ignored his look, gripping his arms tighter even. "I did it," he repeated. "I forced him to leave. By myself." A bubble of hoarse laughter escaped and the Potions Master had to contain a wince at the further abuse the boy was putting his strained vocal chords through. But then the impact of what Harry said sunk in and Snape's eyes widened. Dumbledore behind him inhaled sharply, surprised and pleased.

"You used Occlumency against Voldemort, Harry?"

The child continued to laugh weakly, not answering the Headmaster and Snape felt an icy tendril of fear snake through his guts. Was the boy going mad?

"Potter." He shook the boy's shoulders forcibly. "Potter. Harry!"

Dazed green eyes snapped open, closed earlier in mirth not understandable to the two wizards and the weak chuckles died midway. Only then did Snape notice that Harry's bottom lip was bitten through and blood trailed a streak of soft red down one side to disappear into the collar of his robes.

"Kyo. Hisoka."

With surprising strength, Harry fought his way free of the two professors' clutches, his sudden show of vigor causing momentary shock that resulted in a crucial second of lapsed vigilance. Like a wraith, he slipped through them, stumbling past the open door and into the Headmaster's office. As Snape and Dumbledore got to their feet quickly, the boy had already grabbed hold of what he assumed correctly was the jar of Floo powder off the mantelpiece.

"Harry, no!" But Dumbledore caught Snape's arm, halting him before he could yank the boy back from the blazing fire. He shot the old man a furious glare but the Headmaster was not paying attention to him. Instead, light blue eyes were focused determinedly on the youth who stood trembling on his feet with a handful of glittery green dust.

"He was torturing them," Harry rasped out, still with his back to them. The fistful of Floo powder in his hands rained softly down to the floor, leaking out of his tight grip. "You were right Professor. He didn't waste any time." The bark of brittle laughter he choked out surprised Snape. The Potions Master had never heard someone so young, save for himself, laugh so terribly, mocking the action with deadened pain that by all rights, youth and innocence should have saved the boy from.

"I have to save them. I can't let anyone else die because of me."

Dumbledore reached out a hand entreatingly, never mind that the boy could not see it. "Harry, please," he said softly. "You are not ready to face him yet. I won't stop you—" he cut off Snape's protestations before he could voice them with a sharp motion. "I won't stop you, Harry. But please, _think._"

There was a pause. A flash in time where Snape could practically taste the indecision hanging in the air. It was one of those pivotal moments where the wrong word or action could create a catastrophe, an unmitigated disaster.

He held his tongue.

Harry's dark head bowed in defeat and with shaking hands, he dumped the Floo powder back in its jar, almost dropping it as his hands proved to be too weary for the task of replacing the container back safely on its perch. Dumbledore was by his side in a heartbeat, shouldering the child's weight and with some disgust, Snape found himself on the boy's other side. Together, they lowered Harry on to a couch. Harry did not look surprised as his supposedly hated Potions professor arranged his limbs comfortably, loosening his collar as the Headmaster placed a pillow behind his head.

"We will need reinforcements to rescue them," Snape said gruffly as his dark eyes met Harry's tired ones. "Then there is the matter of finding them in the first place."

Harry closed his eyes, submitting wearily to the Headmaster's gentle touch as the old hands swept his hair back in a comforting motion. He did not open them again when he said, with a catch in his throat, "I know where they are."

All motion in the room ceased. Even Fawkes, watching quietly from his perch craned his long neck to stare at the boy with unblinking eyes.

"Where are they, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, resuming his affectionate petting.

"Malfoy's." Snape stilled, a carved statue in black. "They're at the Malfoy's manor."

* * *

Takashi knocked politely, Tsuzuki shifting restlessly by his side as they waited for acknowledgement. The barely audible "Enter!" was not Dumbledore's, in fact, it sounded like Snape. The two Shinigami exchanged brief glances before Takashi twisted the bronze handle and the heavy door swung open on silent hinges.

"You sent for. . . .us," Takashi faltered as his entire attention was grabbed by the sight that never ceased to disturb him; a head floating in the fireplace, licked by green flames. He blinked, Tsuzuki coughing discretely behind a hand as the brunette Japanese muttered softly enough for him alone to hear.

"After all this time, I still find firetalking creepy."

"Aa," Takashi broke into a wry smile. The head was that of an old woman; gray, scraggly hair around her wrinkled face, curiosity brightening her eyes as she caught sight of the two Japanese who were still standing by the door.

Dumbledore, crouched before the fire, gave them a brief nod before turning back to the old woman. "Arabella, your instructions are clear?"

"Yes, Albus," she nodded demurely, shooting the Japanese another curious look before the flames roared once and her head disappeared. Dumbledore rose to his feet, dusting off his hands and gesturing for them to enter.

Takashi was just about to seat himself in the chair farthest from the hearth when a flash of black at the edge of his vision stopped him.

"Harry-kun?" he said, alarmed. He crossed the office quickly, dropping to his knees by the couch on which a wan looking Harry lay, Tsuzuki by his side a step later. Takashi took in the pale face, clouded green eyes and he automatically took the boy's pulse, a frown creasing the skin between his eyes. There was a flap of wings and Fawkes alighted on Tsuzuki's shoulder and Harry's white face flushed lightly as his audience increased.

"I'm alright," he murmured to his chest and Takashi snorted in disbelief.

"Yes, you are the picture of perfect health," he answered wryly. There was a dry cough which sounded suspiciously like muffled laughter; Takashi raised an eyebrow but the Potions Master standing at the end of the couch, nearest to the Headmaster merely raised an eyebrow back.

"Takashi, Tsuzuki," the Headmaster cut in. He was leaning against his desk, arms crossed. "Our sources have confirmed that your partners are indeed held at the Malfoy manor. Unfortunately, young Mr. Malfoy is still incapacitated. We have to wait till he awakens to access the grounds."

At the words 'our sources', a frown marred Takashi's forehead and he flicked a sharp glance back down at the listless teen. "Oh, Harry. . ." he sighed. "Not another of your nightmare visions?"

The boy tried to give him a cheeky grin, but it faltered, breaking outright when his eyes grew suspiciously bright with tears. Takashi dropped down to sit on the edge of the sofa as Harry wound his arms around his mid-section and let loose a sob muffled into his shirt front. "I'm so sorry! I could see them, but I couldn't help them." Anguish spasmed across the man's face, and he tightened his hold until his knuckles showed white against the dark fabric. He began to gently rock the two of them.

"Harry-kun," There was an edge of steel to Tsuzuki's gentle voice. His worried glance took in the shattered look in Takashi's eyes, and his words were intended as much for his benefit as Harry's. "This is inappropriate. Don't blame yourself. Even if you were trained as a yumemi, it is difficult to affect dreams."

Harry sniffled, and raised his flushed face from Takashi's robes, although he made no move to push away from the embrace. "Y- yamana. . .?" he asked uncertainly.

"Yumemi," corrected the sensei. He shot his fellow Japanese an annoyed look. "A yumemi is one who walks the paths of what might be, through the use of prophetic dreams and visions. It's a very difficult art, and not many have a talent for it. Neither of us do, certainly."

"Oh." Harry released his grip on Takashi and scrubbed at his puffy, red-rimmed eyes. "I guess you won't be able to teach me, then." Tsuzuki twitched as though the idea had never occurred to him.

"As charming as this little tête-à-tête is, it is not productive." The Potions Master's waspish tone cut across their conversation, drawing four sets of eyes, variously green, hazel, violet, and quietly amused blue to himself. The black-clad wizard made a sharp, cutting gesture and strode past the Japanese to a round, claw footed table littered with rolls and sheets of parchment. "Madam Pince has lent us every map in the library's sizable collection, and we are no closer to being able to locating the Malfoy estate. Have you any means to do so at your disposal?"

At the man's abrupt words, Takashi paled. He rose from his seat at Harry's side, hands fisted in the concealing folds of his teaching robes. He took a step toward the English wizard, only stopping when Tsuzuki moved subtly into his path. "And what," he asked softly, "Do you think we've been doing? Knitting tea cozies?'

Glittering black eyes met his, perverse humor sparking in their depths. "I wouldn't know. Your personal habits are of no interest to me."

"Severus. . ." The quiet warning in the Headmaster's voice brooked no discussion. There were times when such a harsh approach was appropriate, and times when it was not. And, he suspected, this was one of the latter. While the taller of the two Japanese seemed in control of his emotions, Takashi most assuredly was not. His brittle calm was as likely to break in the face of Severus' incessant goading, as it was to steady. The Headmaster's world-weary gaze chanced to cross that of Tsuzuki, and a moment of perfect understanding passed between them. _Takashi is strong; he just needs something to do, to make him feel as if there **is** something to be done._

Dumbledore snapped his fingers, summoning a tea tray. "Well," he said briskly. "All is not lost. I have an acquaintance among the Aurors who might be able to help us out. Harry saw two men that he recognized - Avery and McNair – and I think that a trace on their whereabouts might be of value."

The tea was dispensed with various thank-yous muttered as they gathered around the fire once again, Harry sticking to Takashi's side as they both appropriated a small two-seater, conjured courtesy of Dumbledore. Just as Takashi finished his first cup, a faint cry could be heard from outside the office window which overlooked the Forbidden Forest. Fawkes, still contentedly perched on Tsuzuki's shoulder bobbed his scarlet head once, trilling an answer.

There was another cry, a distinctive _kee__! _and a small bird zoomed _through _the glass and easily alighted on the arm Takashi held out in readiness. Those assembled in the office readily recognized it for Takashi's personal shikigami and the wizards found themselves leaning forwards in their chairs eagerly, waiting for the news the magical bird might bring. However, even before the Headmaster opened his mouth, the grim set to Takashi's mouth answered their question.

"No trace," he said tersely. Magical construct and creator stared deep into each other's eyes, the kestrel crying a low song on a mournful note which Fawkes echoed softly. "But I can get a general direction. . . ." Takashi's hazel eyes glazed over, looking beyond his creation to something that none of them could see. His head fell to the side, sudden and unnerving and they could clearly see by the flickering light of the fire still blazing that the sensei's pupils dilated, eclipsing to bare traces the verdant gold-flecked green.

"She took him beyond this land's boundaries. . . ." his voice dropped into a low murmur, hypnotic and compelling. His kestrel's song dipped lower. "The spirits are angry. . .she was a trespasser. . . . ." Without warning, his head snapped up and his shikigami shimmered, its body dissolving and bleeding into its master's cupped hand.

"South-east," Takashi rapped out. They jumped in surprise, Takashi ignoring Snape's hissing observation of theatrical sleights-of-hand. He riffled impatiently through the rolled parchments that littered the table, feverishly tossing aside aged scrolls like so much scrap paper. He found what he was looking for in a much-handled map of the United Kingdom and he got rid of the other parchmentswith a broad sweep of his arm. "Here." His finger circled an area of the map, tracing an invisible boundary that isolated out the coast of England from Dorset to Essex. "Other than that, I can't get a clearer reading. You'll have to take over, Tsuzuki."

Tsuzuki peered over his shoulder, committing the area outlined to memory and nodded, thoughtful. Dumbledore, a frown pinching his brows, said, "A family as old as the Malfoys would have marked their own place in history. Even with the manor hidden, I'm sure Madam Pince can help narrow the search through county records."

"That will help, I'm sure," Tsuzuki murmured as he leaned back in his seat, fingers steepled in front of his face. The earlier tension that had gripped the sensei let go and Takashi slumped in his seat, Harry patting his arm in commiseration. "Though. . . ." Tsuzuki worried his lower lip and said more to himself, rather than anyone, "Even if they suffereda backlash, one of the scale of the wards that broke would have been taken care of by now. There's no reason to suggest why they couldn't have sent us a tracker."

"I. . ." Harry spoke up timidly. He wasn't as familiar with Tsuzuki as he was with the other three Japanese and his usual reserved attitude tend to come into full force whenever he needed to interact with the olderJapanese. "I think it's because they're not exactly. . .in the shape to."

Takashi hooked an arm around the boy wizard's shoulder while his other hand cupped Harry's chin, turning the boy's downcast face to meet his. "What did you see in your vision, Harry-kun?"

Black lashes lowered, veiling the suspect shimmer that Harry tried furiously to hold back. "Voldemort was. . .was torturing them. W-with Cruciatus."

"The Unforgivable curse that causes pain?" Tsuzuki asked and the only evidence of his distress were the lines around his mouth.

Harry nodded while Dumbledore explained the nature of the curse fully. "It works by stimulating the body's nerves to detect the sensation of pain."

Takashi accepted the old wizard's explanation with an impatient nod. "Even so, they should have been able to send a tracker as soon as they recovered. Both Hisoka and Kyo have trained extensively so as to be able to detach their minds from any discomfort that their bodies feel."

Snape rested his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together. "I don't know whether to admire your faith in your respective partners or to fear it," he sneered lightly. Takashi frowned but made no reply. "Even so, you yourself have admitted that your. . .bird," he waved a hand negligently, "failed to penetrate the Dark Lord's hideout. Why should Kurosaki and Shiozaki be able to do any better?"

Tsuzuki answered him with a light cough. "Do not underestimate their abilities merely because of their age," he contradicted gently and Dumbledore raised his tea cup in salute to his words which the purple-eyed Japanese accepted with a slight nod. "Hisoka is an accomplished onmyouji, as good as Takashi, while Kyo has his own unique abilities."

"Is that so?" Snape replied derisively though there was a cautious gleam in his dark eyes above the rim of his steaming cup of black tea. "And what, pray tell, is Shiozaki's special ability? Looking pretty while suffering under Crucio?"

Takashi did not say anything but there was a palpable tension to the air surrounding him, evident as Harry stiffened infinitesimally by his side. There wasn't even a trace of anger in his face; the frown earlier erased with his face nothing but a blank mask. "Kyo, given time, can take down or slip through almost any ward. While we may not be able to reach him from the outside, Kyo can very well break out from the inside. Especially if it's to launch a spell as small as a shikigami."

"Unless. . ." Harry said slowly and the adults in the room turned to him in surprise. Snape had a disbelieving look on his face, obviously thinking that it was a shock to him that the boy could contradict the so-called close friends he had found in the Japanese. "I saw something, in my vision, which I forgot to mention earlier," he said apologetically to the Headmaster who accepted it with an encouraging nod. "Kyo and Hisoka were tied up—"

"They are supposed to be accomplished onmyouji, Potter," Snape scoffed. "As your new pet there has so arduously insisted, they are as powerful as Merlin himself."

"Severus!"

The Potions Master subsided with a dark scowl.

Harry studiously kept his gaze trained on Takashi who was watching him warily. "What was so different about their bonds, Harry-kun?"

Harry lifted his hands, trying to make them see what he saw and felt so plainly that even now, with the echoes of the vision fading, he could still feel the oily taint that lingered like an unpleasant aftertaste at the back of his throat. "It looked like wires, but it wasn't, not really," he said slowly as his fingers sketched the air helplessly. "It was bluish-black. . .kinda greasy. . .and it was so long that it was wrapped around them again and again. . ." he trailed off and after a moment of silent contemplation, he shook off the lingering bemusement with a quick shake of his head. "It felt bad, like. . I could see this grey. . ."

"_Kehai_?" Takashi supplied judiciously.

Harry brightened. "Yeah! Like a grey aura around them."

"Damn him to Enma's Fury!"

The wizards in the room turned to Tsuzuki in surprise. The vehemence in his words was enough to fluster even Fawkes; the phoenix flapping his wings agitatedly though the firebird did not leave his perch on the Japanese's shoulder.

"It's what I think it is, isn't it Tsuzuki?" Takashi asked with clear dread in his tone.

Tsuzuki was obviously struggling to not throw his fragile china cup sailing across the room. His knuckles were white, hands trembling and he set down the china forcibly on the little side table. He answered through clenched jaws, a muscle twitching obviously. "You were right," he addressed Snape with black fury darkening his eyes. "They won't be able to break through their wards, even with Kyo's ability. Voldemort has succeeded in replicating a spell of Muraki's. It's the one restraint that _none _of us, onmyouji or wizard, can break out of."

Dumbledore and Snape exchanged troubled looks. From what little the Japanese were willing to divulge of their past concerning Muraki, none of it was pretty and more often than not, they had come out of each confrontation the worse for wear. But more than that, it was the glaring fear-hate punch of emotions swirling in dark purple eyes at the mere mention of the dark onmyouji's name that convinced the British wizards that whatever Lord Voldemort had managed to learn from the deceased man's journals, they would only suffer the more for it.

"Would you care to elaborate more on what kind of spell it is, Tsuzuki, Takashi?" Dumbledore asked carefully. The aged wizard laced his white, wrinkled hands together, the blue veins a stark contrast and if any had cared to look closer, they would have seen the slightest of tremors marring the steady and sure image he tried to project.

It was Takashi who answered, shooting Tsuzuki an indecipherable look as his friend shook his head, one hand rubbing his forehead wearily.

"This spell of Muraki's is definitely classed as a dark art," he began grimly. "We've made a study out of the remnants that we were able to procure and most of what I'm about to tell you is the result of our colleague's study into the breakdown of its components. Even then, we're not sure as to how to replicate it step by step as Muraki was one of the few gifted onmyouji who was able to create his own style of magic. Obviously," here, anger colored his pale face, "Voldemort has managed to overcome that barrier with the help of the journals."

"What _can_ you tell us then?" demanded Snape and for the first time that day, Takashi did not give in to annoyance with the man's rudeness.

"It's made from women's hair," he answered flatly.

Dumbledore frowned while Snape let bewilderment cross his face briefly. It was Harry who asked him though, noticeably trying to ensure the minimum amount of interaction between Snape and Takashi.

"What's so Dark Arts about it?" he asked, confused.

"The women are killed brutally or tortured to slow death. The hatred, rage, anger and fear of these women at their violent deaths is then bound to their hair by spells. The hairs act as a magic dampener, suppressing it below that of an ordinary mor-of a Muggle."

"It's all about damnation." Tsuzuki's sharp words cut across his friend's slower, more carefully considered ones. A feverish intensity drove him to pace across the office, whirling about to face the assembled wizards. "Muraki did things in his arrogance and insanity that should _never_ have been done. He. . .We. . ." Frustrated, loosing his tenuous hold on the English words, his hands shaped themselves into familiar mudras, and light glimmered like fox-fire on his skin. He stared at the eerie phosphorescence then snapped his fingers to release it. His voice was calmer as he continued. "We need to know what else this Dark Lord of yours has learned from Muraki-sensei. That _man_ - " Revulsion was clearly audible on the last word. "had many tricks up his sleeves. It would be a disaster if they were to be loosed on the wizarding world."

Something in his posture shifted subtly. His generous, cheerful mouth drew down into a hard line, and his low voice became inflexible. "We cannot bring 'Soka-chan and Kyo-kun back until they know the answers to this question."

"What?!" The startled shout burst from both Harry and Snape at the same instant. The boy twisted around to stare in open-mouthed amazement at Takashi, taking in the way the slender man's shoulders sagged in defeat, while the older wizard ignored the ridiculous tableau, fixing his narrowed gaze instead on Tsuzuki. He took a slow step toward the Japanese, rapidly assessing and discarding a variety of scenarios. "You think that you have a way of communicating with them, do you not?"

"Maybe. At least enough to let them know that we are aware of Muraki's involvement, and our concern over it. They will understand the importance of it."

He turned with an abrupt swirl of his black robes, staring blindly at a sleeping portrait.

"They have to."

* * *

Kyo knew he was too old and too jaded to naively believe that if you could not see the bogeyman, then the bogeyman couldn't see you. Still, it did not stop him from closing his eyes and wishing desperately to Enma that this particular bogeyman with the boiled-in-blood slitted eyes of a snake wouldn't see him.

Breath that was colder than the frost grip of winter brushed across his face and he shuddered. _Prayer not granted then, _he thought numbly. Kyo fought against the rising hysteria; a black wave of ice that threatened to drown him under its suffocating waters. He could not afford to go into shock now, not when he was separated from Hisoka as he was. He had to keep his wits about him and try to glean whatever advantage he could from his situation.

Though, Kyo seriously doubted that there was any to be gained, strung up like a marionette waiting to dance to its master's nimble fingers. The irony of his current pose of 'enslavement,' so to speak, wasn't lost on him. Arms stretched out on either side, feet shoulder-width apart. Crucifixion style. A sharp twinge of pain shot out from the center of his skull, and he wondered fleetingly if the beating he had taken had managed to actually do some real damage. It would be ironic if he were to die his second death just because of a bunch of silly Death Eaters. But the mono-filament fine strands of hair that bound him slowed his healing, and kept him from drawing on the Elements, just as they had kept Hisoka from using his powers as an empath and an onmyouji. And that loss of power and control was just a bit more terrifying than he wanted to think about. Another pulse of agony rocked his poor head, and he licked dry lips, fighting down the nausea rising as he doubted the Dark Lord would be kind enough to give him even a trashcan to retch into.

Thinking about wanting to throw up wasn't helping him though. He decided to concentrate on the misery waiting outside rather than inside. Even with his eyes squeezed tightly shut, he knew that the Dark Lord was there, waiting just outside the safety of his temporary haven. A soft, malicious chuckle stirred the ends of his hair where they curled against the side of his neck. In response, a wave of goosebumps surged across his flesh.

"The loyalty you show to your. . .cause is admirable. Rarely do we get fine young specimens such as yourself still _standing _strong, after the kind of entertainment we endeavoured to provide for your enjoyment."

He refused to open his eyes and give Voldemort the satisfaction of drinking in the fear that caused icy blue irises to drown under dilated pupils.

"But what infuriates me _more--!_" The sudden descent into rage caused Kyo's eyes to fly open as he gasped for breath. Voldemort had taken a painful grip on the back of his head, pulling mercilessly on his hair in one sudden jerk. Kyo gagged at the abrupt pressure on his sore throat.

"--is the blind adoration and devotion you give to a mere pup who waits whimpering to die by my hand!"

Voldemort refused to let go, pulling Kyo further backwards as his upper body strained to meet the pressure, even as his lower half remained caught in the unrelenting manacles of the bindings. Tears leaked out of the corner of his eyes, dripping down his temple to disappear into his hair and multicoloured swirls swam in his vision. He clenched his eyes shut, the ragged gasps he tried to force past his bleeding throat making him hyperventilate as his lungs demanded more than he could give.

His head was shaken roughly; like a naughty kitten caught scratching the best chair again. "Open your eyes."

Kyo shook his head weakly, trying to make the Dark Lord let go but it only served to infuriate the inhuman caricature even more. This time, he cried out from the pain as strands of hair were torn from his scalp and Voldemort hissed in his ear in the parody of a lover whispering sweet endearments, _"Open your eyes."_

With a whimper the he could not stifle in time, he obeyed the command to find Voldemort looking down on him, the murky red eyes only inches away from his face. There was a brief moment of disorientation. Kyo thought he could see the slit pupils dilate like a cat's and a hot-sharp jab between his eyes that had nothing to do with the Death Eater McNair's fondness of kicking him repeatedly at that very same spot earlier.

Voldemort caressed his cheeks lovingly, the earlier rage replaced with an almost childlike wonder tempered with the greed for knowledge, for power, and through it all, his madness shining through clearer than the sun that shone on the Land of the Dead. "Your mind is protected from intrusion." A black, leathery tongue flicked out, rasping dryly across his chin, over his lips and licked the salty trail of tear from his left eye. Fear more potent than any brew Akuma could have dreamed up blossomed like a many-petaled flower in his guts; each petal a razor sharp blade that sliced his intestines into pretty ribbons and mixed the mess into finely blended mush.

A wordless prayer to a god who could not answer left his lips.

"You are a puzzle, my sweet-tasting Japanese," the murmur ghosted the outer shell of his ear, the hair clutched earlier released and instead, the hand still cupping the back of his head massaged his skull gently, fondly. "That child of gold and silver has secrets and you have yours. Does _Harry _know your secrets? Hmm?" The gentle massage turned again into a vicious yank at his hair and twisted another cry from Kyo, forced to bend back even further and feeling the shriek of protest from abused muscles straining to bear the weight pulling him in two different directions, literally.

Without warning, the pressure let go and Kyo snapped upright. Black spots danced in front of his eyes and he gagged, coughing and hacking as his lungs breathed in great gulps of air gratefully. He could barely even lean forwards to ease the pins and needles that were stabbing his spine mercilessly. The hairs refused to give way and he could swear he felt the noxious magic of the bindings swirl in demented delight as he was forced to remain upright and standing; a statue of a teenage boy in the throes of a Dark Lord's pleasure.

And the Dark Lord was not through with him yet. Head hanging low with his chin resting on his chest, he could still feel the light-sucking void that was Voldemort just a touch away. Again, that hated command came.

"Open your eyes, boy. Open your eyes and face me."

This time, he was not granted even a skeleton of a chance to obey; a ragged cry escaped him as thin, bright fiery pain sped upward from his navel, splitting t-shirt and skin. Desiccated fingers that hooked into talons gripped his chin far too tightly. They prevented Kyo from flinching away. He had heard the others describe Voldemort as cadaverous and reptilian, and so he was. With the hood now shoved back from his hairless, bleached white skull, he really did look like a snake transformed into a man. But even if Kyo hadn't heard the stories, he would still recognize the Dark Lord for what he was: not merely dead, but beyond Death. Nothing human lived in those pitiless eyes, and nothing had for a very long time. The god of death gagged, and amused satisfaction quirked the ugly, lipless mouth inches from his own.

"You are a most entertaining pet," the Dark Lord mused and his fingers released their hold on his chin to pat his cheek fondly. "Not a word will you say, even now. The tenacity that infuriates me, amuses me as well." Kyo was barely able to call the expression that lit the depths of those ruby eyes as delight. "Lucius, as you undoubtedly know by now, is my most favourite servant. Perhaps I should give you to him for a bit. He's just home from Azkaban, you know, and Azkaban does. . .something. . .to a person. I'm afraid that it requires a great deal of _effort_ for Lucius to feel anything these days. I'm quite sure that you would _not_ enjoy the experience."

This, when nothing else would, broke Kyo's self-imposed silence. "No," he whispered a plea. And there was no mistaking the gleam that brightened in those pools of crimson and poisoned claret. The cavernous, torch lit room swam dizzily around him, and for a minute grew dim. Voldemort was speaking again by the time Kyo could control his heaving lungs.

"I have some preparations to make. I think I'll just leave you here to consider your options; Lucius? Or, me." The clawed hand ran suggestively down Kyo's bare, bleeding chest, leaving an ache like acid on his sensitized skin. Uncontrollably, the boy retched, and struggled against the near-invisible threads that bound him until they sliced through his skin. New trickles of red joined the stream still flowing from the cut down his torso.

Voldemort gave him a last, fond pat on the cheek and Kyo could not bring himself to look as the brisk sound of booted feet withdrew, leaving him in his spider web of silken threads and dripping blood.

A cracked, softly uttered prayer filled the silence left behind;

". . . .my eternal soul, may Enma find. . ."

* * *

**to**** be continued**

* * *

**Malfoy**** Bibliography**

"The Oxford Guide to Heraldry" by Thomas Woodcock and John Martin Robinson, Oxford University Press, 1988.

Fleur-de-Lis Designs: The Meanings Behind the Symbols - www . fleurdelis . com / meanings.html

"The Yellow Cross: The Story of the Last Cathars' Rebellion Against the Inquisition 1290-1329" by Rene Weis, Vintage Books, 2000.

"Massacre at Montesegur" by Zoe Oldenbourg, Pantheon Books, 1961.

"The Cathars" by Malcolm Lambert, Blackwell Publishers, 1998.

**Kelly: **The Malfoy's family crest and history is courtesy of Lisa. If you would like to read it, we would be happy to put up the file in the mailing list. The prayer Kyo was using is a creation of mine and can be found on my profile page. How was the torture scene by the way? Was it good? Were you feeling the emotion we tried to convey? Shall I just donate my computer to charity and live a life of abstinence instead?


	31. Chapter 31:Quinta Essentia

**Title: **When Death Comes a'Knocking: Book 1 – Of Revelations

**Plot Mistresses: **Shiozaki, Shaynie, Librarycat, Literary Eagle

**Spell Researchers: **Fellow wizards, witches & omnyouji at my Yahoo!Group

**Scene Masters: **Shiozaki and Librarycat

The Voldemort x Kyo and Lucius x Hisoka scenes were courtesy of the great Lisa-sama. I was responsible for the other pathetic scenes and for tailoring it all together. All hail Lisa!

**Beta-d by: **Librarycat

**Warning: R – **for blood, torture, squickiness, spoilers for the Kurosaki arc in the manga and in Lisa's words; excessive research. I must insist you, the readers, heap tons of praise on Lisa for without her, the alchemy ritual would never have happened and this story would have fallen flat on its face.

Again; warnings from other R-rated chapters repeated. Kids, flamers, you've been advised. And keeping in mind 's the site's rather stringent rules, if this story ends up getting kicked off, I'll be washing my hands off of this place.

**Review replies: **I can't thank you guys individually this time because I've just finished editing 47 bloody pages of this chapter and having to do it again with that QuickEdit. But know that I love you all for your continued support. And that you will hate me and Lisa for the cliffhanger that's coming your way.

* * *

** Chapter 31**

** Quinta Essentia**

* * *

_Escape._

_He had to escape._

_Have to get away before **he** comes back._

This was the one mantra he held on to; prayers would not help him now. He had to escape and find Hisoka. Hisoka would make him feel better, would hold him close and shove the growing darkness away and bring sanity back to this insane world which allowed that _thing _to exist in the first place.

But. . .Kyo choked back a sob. How was he going to perform such a miracle as to get away? His magic was suffocating under the bindings; a ghostly whine that skated across his nerves and threw his mind deeper into the unrest that was already a roiling mass of churning storm clouds begging for release.

Kyo was tempted to just sag into the hairs' waiting embrace, to let the silk-greasy strands saw him into pieces and bloody chunks of meat, and let the sweet, temporary oblivion of false death claim him. Never mind the pain that he would go through if it meant that he could be free. Never mind that any death, no matter the fact that he would be resurrected each time, was still a mind-jarring experience that no Shinigami could build immunity against. As long as it meant he could liberate himself of this spider web and be anywhere else but in the Dark Lord's company.

And he did give in, letting his legs give way and his body sag down. The pain was welcome, expected really and he wondered, in morbid curiosity, how long would it take till the lancing fire turned him to ash? A stab to the guts required at least five minutes to heal, depending on the severity of the wound. Burning could cost a Shinigami anything from a day to, in his past experience, three months of healing, again depending on the seriousness of the injury. What would voluntary body-slicing require? Two minutes? Three? Five? Better than the mind-numbing, animalistic insanity that choked him with each drawn breath and turned hot blood to icy waters if he stayed here any longer.

_Almost there_. . . ._we're__ almost free, _that little voice whispered comfortingly, a pleasant change and he felt oddly at ease, even as the slow trickles of blood changed into steady streams that dribbled and splattered. Eyes closed, he could just imagine the pretty picture he made; a boy of alabaster and onyx, anointed with the holy waters of life by a god who would not answer his prayers.

"What the _hell _do you think you're doing, boy?"

Sharp nails scraped his cheek, hooking his chin in an unrelenting grip. He was shaken roughly and that brought unwelcome awareness crashing back down. His eyes flew open with a gasp. Voldemort was back. And he was not pleased. A snap of bone fingers and the lines digging into him released for a fraction of a second before twisting cruelly into his skin again, but this time drawing him tautly upright till he didn't even have any leeway to twitch. The forced, straight-backed posture cracked bones and tore muscles and Kyo gagged, coughing up blood and saliva.

Annoyance flashed briefly across the skeleton-snake features of the dark wizard. A long-fingered hand wiped away the spittle that marred his paper-pale skin and a sneer curved the lipless mouth.

"Wormtail," Voldemort hissed over Kyo's continued choking.

A shadow skittered out of the darkness just at the edge of his failing vision and Kyo shrank back, even if he could barely move. The shadow coalesced into a small man, balding with weak features that stank of cowardice. Kyo's light blue eyes darted from face to face, from Dark Lord to Death Eater servant, as the new presence surely was. Panic threatened to overwhelm him as Voldemort refused to let go of his chin, black nails digging cruelly. That animalistic part of the human brain which prized survival over any other insisted that he must keep an eye on both; the attack could come from either of them.

"Calming potion, now."

"Y-yes, Master," a soft whimper and the Death Eater scurried away to the edge of the cavernous room, returning quickly and holding out a small vial filled with a blue colored liquid which he gave to his Master in the grip of a silver hand and a low bow. That anomaly; of a metallic hand on a wizard, caught Kyo's attention in that split-second so that when the Dark Lord pried his mouth open, he was too startled to do anything but obey.

Sweet, viscous liquid trickled down his gullet and Kyo spluttered. The open wounds in the lining of his throat stung viciously and involuntary tears prickled his eyes. But soon enough, as he swallowed the last of the potion, an unnatural calm settled over him, and the last of his near-maddening fear dwindled down to a tight ball. His breathing eased and Kyo took a deep breath gratefully.

Voldemort's desiccated fingers stroked his cheek. "Better?" the dry whisper was almost a kiss but the calming potion did its work well. Kyo was able to look at the Dark Lord straight in the eye.

"Bastard."

A soft huff of laughter and again, his cheek was patted like he was some sort of amusing pet. The dark wizard snapped his fingers again and the hairs binding Kyo were loosened marginally, enough for him to let go of the forced posture he was held in.

Kyo wetted his lips, eyeing Voldemort carefully. "How do you know this spell?"

Cat pupils widened slightly before narrowing again. The amusement on the inhuman face Voldemort wore thinned down to a mockery of thoughtfulness. "Spell? Which spell, my little Japanese? I am the greatest wizard to walk this earth since Merlin and I know many spells." He tapped Kyo's nose condescendingly. "Be concise, little Japanese."

The calming potion he imbibed must have been of industrial strength at least; Kyo managed to restrain the urge to bite off Voldemort's offending finger. Instead, he went on in a controlled voice, refusing to look away even if that ball of fear in his gut squirmed restlessly.

"This spell of binding," he said slowly as though talking to a particularly dim-witted child. "This is not a Latin construct. I know of only one. . .wizard who uses it."

The unholy eyes lit with delight, and the Dark Lord smiled. "Really? And who might that be?"

Beneath the artificial serenity, Kyo's soul trembled. With his initial terror suppressed, he was faced with the realization that it was the cat and mouse game implicit in the wizard's gaze that was scaring him. There was both intelligence and cruel cunning in that skeletal visage, and it was just possible that the Shinigami was in over his head. _Way_ over his head. He watched as the fire smoldering in the crimson eyes shifted mercurially from amusement, to chilling rage, and back in a blink, and understood that even if they had had access to their powers, Hisoka's empathy would still be useless. _You can only predict what someone will do when he has human emotions for you to read. . ._And Voldemort. . . did not.

But his duty as a Shinigami made him press on, even if that compacted ball of fear insisted that he find a dark corner and stay there.

"Kazutaka Muraki," Kyo said, harshly, a nauseating blend of both trepidation and false bravado. "This spell is his creation and the man is dead. How, in the name of Enma, could you have replicated it?"

"Enma?" The white mask shifted to that of polite inquiry. "Ah, yes. I've come across that name before. Your God of Death, is he not? Tell me, why do you invoke his name so?"

Kyo refused to answer him, even with the sudden pressure just at front of his brain; needle-thin and sharp. _Legilimency__, _Kyo realized with a start, and felt inordinate relief at whatever it was that protected his mind from it. If Voldemort should ever gain the knowledge of his prisoners' true identity. . .There was a reason why each Shinigami had to go through the three tests of loyalty and worthiness; by the end of them, each Shinigami was irrevocably bound to Enma-Daioh, given powers that if left unchecked would wreak havoc in all realms, dead and living. To even speculate what such a wizard as Voldemort could do with a Shinigami under his control was to speculate how fast the Apocalypse would descend.

The Dark Lord sighed, that pinprick of invisible probing receding with it and Kyo had to marvel at the broad range of human emotions the monster's face could wear so dexterously. "The good doctor was a delight to read—" Kyo froze at the implication. Had Muraki left notes behind, possibly diaries or journals of his workings? And how much of it included his study of Shinigamis? And how, most importantly, how did Voldemort lay his skinny fingers on any copy and where did he kept it? "His is a rare genius, I have to admit, and as learned as I am, I am not above gaining more knowledge. For am I not the greatest wizard of the era? Of all time?"

It was a mistake, Kyo could readily admit. He should have kept his mouth shut and let Voldemort prattle on and reveal his plans. But he was too shocked by the revelation that Muraki had the gall to sow mayhem in their lives, even after death, by being stupid enough to leave his work intact. In the heat of the moment, Kyo didn't give a damn that the sensei couldn't exactly have done anything to prevent such a thing, even if he was inclined to, having died mad, but _still! _

"Aren't you the egotistical bastard," Kyo replied scathingly and was rewarded with the slight widening of slit eyes. He would have dug his proverbial grave deeper but for the infuriated wizard striking him across the face.

Kyo's head whipped around with the force of the blow and for a few moments, he was too surprised to do anything save blinking stupidly. But pain returned soon enough and his cheek throbbed in time with his heartbeat. Blood pooled in his mouth and he spat it out carefully, keeping his eyes averted. "What?" he asked the floor. "Don't like hearing the truth?" _Oh, dammit, Kyo. Can't you keep your mouth shut?_

He tensed his body for a new blow but none came. Warily, he lifted his head to find Voldemort regarding him with something akin to contemplation, fingers stroking a hairless chin. "The impetuosity of youth," the dark wizard offered and Kyo managed to restrain a snort. Youth indeed. He was nearing his fifty-fourth birthday, thank you very much.

"It is of no consequence, your opinion," Voldemort waved a hand negligently. "Now, if you'll excuse me, my little Japanese." He gave a mock bow with bared fangs. "I have much to do and little time to dawdle. Don't try anything so foolish again. I'd hate to dispose of your friend before I'm through with him."

And with that threat hanging between them, Voldemort left him, the door booming close after the balding man who scurried behind his master like a faithful dog. Left alone, and this time with the artificial calm still clouding his senses, Kyo took a deep breath, holding it in and letting it out slowly. He repeated the exercise again and again, till the calmness was as much his making as it was the potion he had been forced to imbibe. Centered, Kyo decided that to listen to the advice of a megalomaniac such as Voldemort was really in his best interest. Especially when said megalomaniac had a good friend as a bargaining tool. But to just stand idly by, awaiting his doom chafed Kyo. Now that his mind was as clear as it could be, given the circumstances, he tried to take in his surroundings for any possible escape route, should the opportunity avail itself.

The near-invisible strands that held his legs about shoulder-width apart were attached to small loops set into the floor, and were no more cooperative than the ones that bound his arms. For some bizarre reason, their kidnappers had taken his socks and shoes, and the intricate inlay of the marble floor was cold against the soles of his feet. In fact, the chill was making his toes rather pink and numb. He wriggled them and frowned. That shade of bright pink clashed with the slightly iridescent, honey colored marble under foot. Symbols worked in gold formed a complex border, enclosing him in a circle and separating the warm yellow marble from panels of snowy white that were faintly striated by a dark crimson, like old blood. Farther out, another border of runes enclosed the white marble in a huge triangle. All around were intersecting stripes of pale color, a variety of semi-precious stone laced together with the white and gold marble. The grid of lines and symbols covered the floor of the entire room, with himself at its exact center.

For the first time, Kyo really looked at the room in which he stood. Aesthetically speaking, it really was beautiful, if a bit overwhelming. The vast circular space was divided by thirteen golden pillars ranged around its perimeter, each bearing a brace of torches that gave off brilliantly white light, like burning magnesium. Between twelve of them hung tapestries worked in pale shades of silver, gold, and white, each depicting some odd mythological symbol; there was a roaring lion, a set of scales, a centaur with a drawn bow. . . By craning his neck, Kyo could see most of them, but he had no idea what they signified.

The thirteenth section, directly in front of him, was filled with an intricate panel of stained glass that was virtually the only real color in the whole place. It was dominated by another inverted triangle, and crisscrossed by rays of color that poured from a sun and a moon, all coming together at the triangle's tip. More symbols, a rose and a lily, and a knotted pattern of dragons surrounded the odd picture. The huge window dwarfed a massive block of stone that stood as a table beneath it. Its surface was littered with a clutter of equipment, some familiar from the potions classes at Hogwarts; cauldrons, alembics, flasks and jars, and other things that he didn't recognize at all.

His heart sank; the only possible escape route was through the lone door and even then, he could do nothing about it with Hisoka only Enma knows where, and he himself trussed up and helpless. Despair threatened to overwhelm him again but he rallied, pushing the crowding darkness away. He needed to stay focused and memorize everything that he could. The intelligence they could gather might prove useful to their side, and theso-called Order of the Phoenix. __

If they could ever escape.

_No, don't think like that, _Kyo told himself sternly. He wasn't sure how many days had passed since their captivity but he ventured that a couple had been squandered already. By now, Tsuzuki and Takashi should have been sufficiently warned of their helplessness since neither he nor Hisoka could overcome the spelled hair to send a shikigami. So, help should arrive soon. All he had to do was wait. Wait until they were rescued or second death claimed them.

And time passed in a slow, syrupy crawl as he vacillated between hope and depression.

The echoing slam of a door jerked Kyo out of his contemplation of his prison. The swift stride approaching from behind him, out of his line of sight was instantly recognizable, and he was powerless to prevent the surge of terror, threaded through with anger that rocked through him. To the boy's intense relief, the black robed figure seemed preoccupied and simply walked past him.

But the Dark Lord still seemed to suck all the light from the room. The torches dimmed, and Kyo could no longer make out the intense colors of the stained glass window as they all bled together into a formless black. It was as if Voldemort were a dark void, drawing warmth and light into oblivion as his mere presence began eroding the shaky control the calming potion and meditation both had given him. Kyo began to shiver as his torn tee-shirt suddenly became completely inadequate for the job of keeping him warm. The dark wizard took no notice of him, focused entirely on the array of equipment on the stone table. With a pass of his hand, a sullen orange fire materialized under a cauldron that winked shiny gold from the designs carved into its belly. Another tap of a clawed finger, and a blue-white flame lit under a complex knot of distillery equipment, quickly filling the largest of the glass alembics with a roiling gray fog that spilled over and rolled to the floor.

"Are you familiar with alchemy, my pretty guest?" The unexpected question nearly knocked Kyo off his feet. Without looking at him, the hooded figure chuckled, a low disquieting sound. "I doubt it. Even if you were a full time student of Hogwarts, that old fraud won't allow the teaching of anything except Transfigurations and Potions. Which are a weak imitation of the power and complexity of the _Ars__ Transmutatoria_. To think, _Dumbledore_ was the partner of Nicholas Flamel, himself. What a fine joke that is."

Kyo coughed weakly and hoped that the evil lord didn't expect him to keep up his end of the conversation. He was disgusted with himself; his body and mind's weakness was an affront that irritated him to the quick. How the hell was he supposed to protect Harry if by just being in the presence of the Dark Lord affected him so? Frustration warred badly with fear and plain nerves, enough that he overlooked the fact that he did not have empathy to shield himself and that he was as powerful as a Squib in the current situation. Another cough wracked his body and derailed his bout of self-loathing. A low mist that reeked of sulfur was creeping across the floor, slithering like insubstantial serpents along the runes and symbols laid into the floor, making him gag. It was a good thing that he didn't have to look at the undead wizard's fleshless face; if it hadn't been concealed within the shadow of his hood, the boy figured he would have lost the battle with his heaving stomach.

"Well, I suppose it is my task to remedy the lack in your education, Even though I'm sure that you are like those gullible idiots who have _faith_ -" He gave the word the same emphasis as he would have given a curse. 'Faith,' his tone said, was a mental aberration that ought to be ruthlessly suppressed. "Those faithful cretins simply accept the stories of Creation. But the alchemist says 'Yes, but _how_ did God do it?' The alchemist takes apart the processes that others take for granted, studies them, replicates them, and ultimately bends them to his will. And in so doing, the alchemist grasps the one true thing – power."

The next coughing fit racked the boy's dangling frame, and he tasted blood on the back of his tongue. The foul, sulfurous mist lapped against his chilly bare feet, and rubbed up around his calves before drifting slowly away. He stared after it nervously, instinct warning him to keep an eye on the stuff. As a result, he nearly missed the wizard hissing softly, "Alchemy is the study of the world, little boy. In the beginning, the _Anima Mundi_ was separated into the Universal Fire, and the Primordial Humidity – Fire and Water. From their natural putrefaction came Air and Earth."

The dark wizard ceased his tinkering to stare at him from underneath the shadows of his hood. Kyo couldn't help but stare back; the Dark Lord had a strangely hypnotic voice; one that compelled him to listen.

"All things move in a cycle from one state to another. From the feces of one thing, there arises a something new. Think of saltpeter, one of the primary ingredients of gunpowder. I'm sure that you, with your modern, childish sensibilities have never given thought to the fact that it is the whitish crust that forms upon a heap of manure. But just as saltpeter is obtained when corruption gives birth to a new substance, so shall I obtain my _prima materia_ from your own self, and transform it."

The odd words sent a shiver of fear through the boy. He didn't doubt that the Dark Lord was insane, or that he was about to regret being captured in a big way. There was something seriously unnerving about the turn their non-conversation was taking. Voldemort drew forth a slim wand, aimed at the cauldron and muttered an incantation. In response to his spell, the air within seemed to shiver, collapsing into shadow that was not merely the absence of light, but its antithesis.

The gaunt figure moved restlessly along the stone table, touching one, then another of the flasks and vials, but selecting none of them. "When people speak of alchemy, they think only of the Philosopher's Stone, which converts base metal to gold, or of the Elixir of Life, in which the Stone is born. They never think of the basis of the _Ars__ Transmutatoria_, which is that anything can be transformed. Even people."

The creature's skeletal hand fell on one small glass jar, and he rapped it thoughtfully with a blackened nail. The Dark Lord moved with precise economy along the table – 'lab bench' Kyo supposed he really ought to call it. Under other circumstances, he might even have found the careful measuring and weighing of odd substances fascinating, but it was just a little difficult to ignore the fact that he was hanging in an unbreakable spider's net in a madman's rather palatial hideout. Especially when the calf of his tired legs kept wanting to spasm into a Charlie horse. At least so long as Voldemort's attentions were focused away, the horror of the dark creature's presence didn't threaten to overwhelm him quite so much. He could still breathe and think, without being blindsided by the need to curl up and hide, the calming draught still working its magic. Or rather, he could until the evil wizard paused to stare at him, driving reason clear out of his head. "And that is why you, my boy, are an alchemist's dream. Within you are all things combined, and made possible. And you belong to me."

* * *

"Albus," Moody greeted the Headmaster gruffly, both normal and electric blue eye glaring death at his old friend and the hand held out to steady him from his Floo journey. His wooden peg leg rang out defiantly on the stone, testament to how he was still standing strong after all this time and foolish those who'd think otherwise. Dumbledore merely smiled, tucking his refused hand in the folds of his maroon and gold robes, matching hat listing dangerously to the side.

"Alastor," the genial warmth in his tone was a marked contrast to the paranoid ex-Auror's. Not that Moody cared about popularity points. Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody, already a veteran by the First Rising, had more important matters to worry about than how well-liked he was. For instance, the fact that the very Head of the Order of the Phoenix had chosen to reveal the identities of several well-placed members of the resistance to men whose integrity was suspect, to say the least. His magical eye glared, its customary frenetic whizzing stilled as he realized that two of them were there with the Headmaster.

Tsuzuki Asato and Matsumada Takashi, their intelligence had reported. Both men, in their late twenties, had clean records as far as they could tell but records could be forged, slates could be wiped clean. But if the two men felt wary being here in the midst of a gathering of the resistance, neither showed any nerves. If anything, the few Order members present (Snape, Lupin, McGonagall, Flitwick and himself) were ignored in favor of scribbling on the stone floor. The only consolation he could take comfort in was that he had Dumbledore's assurance that the Japanese have not been told of the Order's existence, merely that the Headmaster had called in favours. Moody frowned expansively; he stumped his way closer but Dumbledore stopped him with a quiet, "And Ms. Jones?"

Moody cocked a thumb over his shoulder. "Hestia's on the way." Sure enough, the fire flared green again and a small witch tumbled out with decidedly more grace than Moody. She landed on her feet, catlike and agile with a ready smile.

"Headmaster," she greeted him cordially and Dumbledore presented her with a solemn bow. The Auror, a graduate of the school of Moody, gave the room a quick, critical survey. She would have found little amiss. The chamber they gathered in was one that Hogwarts had provided upon the Headmaster's request. Located off Dumbledore's office, the room was roughly rectangular, at least thirty by twenty feet with a large wooden table dominating near the fireplace. The other end had its wall covered floor to ceiling with aged maps, sprinkled with colored pins and glowing X's. Madam Pince, the only non-Order besides the Japanese commandeered that side, her beady eyes pinched as she studied the maps while flicking through stacks of records with a speed that would have put a duelist to shame.

As they watched, she got up to cross out another area on the map, one that Moody's eye made out as Berkshire. Interest piqued, only mildly eclipsing the irritation and annoyance with his old friend's ready gullibility, Moody left Jones with Dumbledore, certain that his young charge would distract the Headmaster with her news and free him to rid himself of that itch called 'suspiciously clean Japanese'. He felt, rather than saw the disapproving look Dumbledore bored through his back. Both of his eyes were firmly fixed on his quarry and he only registered at the edge of his awareness Jones telling Dumbledore what they had discovered at the behest of an urgent communication from the man himself just an hour ago.

"You were right, sir. From the Queenshead attack, out of the forty-three confirmed missing, twenty-nine were women. What—"

He tuned the rest out. Dumbledore would inform them to what purpose such an odd request had been about soon enough. For now, his attention was firmly fixed on the two who worked in graceful tandem, backs brushing lightly together as they drew around themselves with white chalk.

Moody stopped just at the very edge of the newly drawn lines; the scuffed toes of his boot a shy inch away from soft white powder that marred the clean stone floor. The Japanese ignored him. Never ceasing from their task, the two moved in liquid formation as perfect, concentric circles formed, enclosing them within boundaries. In between, they drew runes of power, strange to his eyes which were so used to the Norse and Celtic system, yet nevertheless, they _were _symbols of magic. That much he could tell from the way his electric blue eye buzzed lightly in its socket from such close proximity with that amount of stored power. A deep scowl pulled his scarred and twisted face into deeper, more grotesque lines. Practical ex-Auror that he was, used to the battle-made spells needing minimal effort to cast and block, he was still a wizard. And every wizard worth his salt knew, from that instinctive curdle of awe and dread slithering through his intestines, clogging the back of his throat with the aftertaste of concentrated magic, that the construct the Japanese were making was, beyond doubt, powerful.

Each line, each stroke, each painstakingly crafted rune had its place and had its counterbalance in perfect, singing harmony. Indeed, he could even make out the faint traces of an expectant hum in the air, could practically sip the magic and roll it in his mouth as a wine connoisseur would an unnamed blend of heady, intoxicating brew.

"What the hell are you doing?" he growled out, underscored by Dumbledore's belated huff; no doubt less than pleased with him disrupting what a first year could see as the workings of ritualized magic.

He failed to get the reaction he distantly hoped for. The two men paid no heed to him. White chalk held in dust-stained fingers, worn to a thin, flaking sliver for Matsumada, did not falter or pause. Tsuzuki, the brunette, was the first to finish. A strange symbol, a curvy, sensuously shaped '3' with three diamond slashes crowning it marked the end of his part of the construct. With careful, deliberate steps, Tsuzuki, making sure that the hem of his robes did not mar the drawn symbols as he stepped out of the circles, stood beside Moody. He seemed content to dismiss the ex-Auror, even with that disconcerting eye trained so assiduously on him.

Matsumada continued, the thinned down chalk now barely a smudge yet he never stopped to get a fresh one. If anything, the symbols that flowed out from beneath his fingers were just as sharp, just as clean as the rest. A disquieting fact Moody took note of.

Dumbledore came to stand by the brunette's side; a blatant sign to Moody that for now, while summoned power still hung heavy and thick in the air, none of his suspicions would be entertained. Moody reluctantly acceded, though his hand was kept held in casual readiness so that a quick flick would release his wand from its wrist holster.

"Will this work?" the Headmaster asked Tsuzuki.

The dark haired Japanese gave a seemingly careless shrug. But Moody detected the faintest hint of alertness in that casual poise, the way both of the Japanese' hands, still dusty with chalk residue, hung relaxed and ready by his sides. "I don't foresee any problems." To his ears, the Japanese' voice was pleasantly soft, words well-rounded falling from his lips easily with only the faintest hint of an accent. The expected youthfulness was there, but Moody heard too, the way experience and knowledge made a ready background to a deceivingly young voice to play against. Tsuzuki nodded to his companion who was finally winding down. "Takashi will act as the focus; the better choice since his signature is calmer than mine could be."

A wry chuckle escaped the curtain of white beard. "Admitting to a fault, Tsuzuki? If anything, I would say that you are the peacemaker, to judge by these past few days."

Matsumada, now sitting on the floor, robes tucked in carefully, snorted, but did not deign to comment.

His friend merely chuckled softly. "Someone had to keep a cool head while our usual took a well-deserved break."

That earned him a glare muffled by reddish-brown bangs, the blood streaks muted what with the torches in the chamber choosing that moment to dim down, save for those in Madam Pince's self-declared territory. As though the thought itself summoned the lady, pince-nez slipping and revealing her tired pallor, the librarian looked up from her work. "Headmaster," she called, stiffly correct.

"Irma," Dumbledore acknowledged. "What have you found?"

"From what I've managed to pin down, the Malfoy estate could either be in Kent or East Sussex." She shuffled aside yellowed, stiff parchments, the rigid quality thanks to constant application of preserving spells. "The books from those two county's offices are strangely incomplete. I doubt it is due to the lack of diligence of the archivists," her thin lips almost disappeared, as though the very _notion _of such an occurrence caused her librarian and researcher's soul to shrivel with indignation. "I suggest that Professors Matsumada and Tsuzuki focus on those two areas but my guess would be Kent. Even now, most of the area around its coastline is sparsely populated by Muggles and there's a notation here, in 1798, for the services of a warlock to update a Muggle-repellant boundary ward."

Tsuzuki bowed in the librarian's direction and the sincerity inherent in his action eased Pince's frown lines. "We will do as you suggest, Madam."

With that, Dumbledore took a step back, while Snape and Lupin moved out of their corners, taking their places by the Headmaster's side. McGonagall and Flitwick hung back, slight apprehension evident on their faces as Jones joined them. The young Auror tended to avoid being in the direct company of power personified such as Dumbledore. She preferred to be in the shadows, observing from the fringes and her quiet presence offset Tonks' in-your-face personality well. They made a formidable pair.

Moody too, took a few steps back, enough so that the near irritating buzz from the construct faded to a dull hum. Tsuzuki was walking the perimeter of the drawn wards; lighting a tall, fat tallow candle at each point of the pentagram that pierced the double layer of the circles. The steady orange glow, seemingly brighter than the torches on the wall, shone too steadily to be anything but a magical conjuration. Neither draft nor breeze of passage managed to cause even a flicker. A hiss escaped his clenched teeth and his peg leg stomped the stone floor once; a hollow, annoyed emphasis.

"What the hell are you doing boy?" he demanded, the question falling freely on both Matsumada and Tsuzuki. The auburn haired one, Matsumada, ignored him, arranging himself more comfortably on the floor, hands held casually in his lap, and to all intents and purposes slipped into a light trance as easily as blinking. Tsuzuki though, halted at the opposite side of the warding, head cocked to the side and a smile twitching his lips.

"Reconnaissance, you might say," he murmured. The Japanese had placed himself directly in front of his friend, with the British wizards and witches arrayed behind Matsumada, Moody at the head of the pack and bristling with indignation and blooming suspicion. To be asked to trust someone whom none could vouch for, save for the gut feelings of a respected friend like Dumbledore, was stretching the limits. Dumbledore wasn't god. He could be fooled, as he had so aptly demonstrated with the Triwizard debacle.

The old retired Auror spun around, jabbing a crooked finger in the Headmaster's face and earning a hiss from the dark-clothed Potions Master.

"What in the holy name of Merlin are you thinking Albus?" he seethed. "You're going trust them just like that? And allow them to work magic on _this _scale here? Are you out of your mind?"

"That issue has been a cause for debate in some circles," his friend replied mildly. Seeing that the veteran Auror was seriously contemplating hexing the living daylights out of him in his rapidly mounting vexation, Dumbledore held out his hands, palms up in a gesture of supplication. "Hear me out, Alastor. They are on our side. Of that, I am positive. Two of our _allies_—" Moody's eye narrowed at the not-so-subtle emphasis, "have been captured while in defense of this school. We know for certain that they are being held at the Malfoy Manor which, until now, has proven to escape even the Ministry's efforts to locate it without the Lord of the House's guidance."

He growled, hooking a thumb back in the patiently waiting Tsuzuki's direction. "And this is supposed to help, _how_?"

Dumbledore smiled beatifically; his friend's grudging capitulation had been accepted. "Tsuzuki was just about to explain to me before you arrived," he said happily and Moody resisted the urge to jab that damn twinkle out of existence. "Tsuzuki?" the Headmaster prompted.

Moody half-turned, not wanting to turn his back on any of them, never mind that it was the Headmaster he was lumping under the not-to-be-trusted category. Whenever that annoying twinkle popped into view, nothing good could come of it.

The heliotrope eyes met his gaze steadily over the head of his auburn haired friend, still in his light meditation. That half smile twitched again.

"We are going to summon the dead," he said neutrally.

* * *

Voldemort had fallen silent when the unseen door again shut with a hollow boom. The leisurely stride of the new arrival approached, and paused just behind Kyo. He tensed, and fought the urge to turn around. "Not bad," a harsh voice admitted. "Is he a virgin?" The man's voice had a sound and texture like a great bell that had been cracked; its beauty marred by discord.

"Hardly." The Dark Lord didn't bother to turn either, continuing with whatever he was engaged in. "But that is of no importance. There are other ways to get what I desire."

"Hmm." The footsteps resumed, passing so close by that Kyo felt the whispering breeze of his robes. The newcomer's hood was shoved carelessly back, and he wore no mask, exposing a face that still bore the traces of beauty in its wreckage. A full lipped mouth and narrow nose were pulled off-kilter by a network of scars and deep lines. They bracketed eyes that were a brilliant silver gray, coldly mocking under angular brows in a darker blond than the platinum shade of the glossy hair that spilled past his shoulders. He drew out an ebony wand and twirled it absently like a baton. Tight gloves of thin black leather failed to conceal the fact that his hands were misshapen and seemed to be missing at least one finger apiece. He conjured a richly carved chair of gilded wood and settled into it to stare at the captive boy. Kyo fought the temptation to cut himself to ribbons fighting to escape that appreciative perusal, cursing the rapidly dwindling effects of the calming potion.

"It's still too bad that this one isn't a virgin." Bored, the fair haired man slouched into his chair, one leg negligently crossed over the knee of the other, his twitching foot keeping time to something that only he could hear. But the eyes that seemed to undress Kyo were cold, lethal silver. "I have no interest in giving him pleasure, my Lord. I'd rather have the little blond."

Disinterested, Voldemort waved that comment away. "I don't care, one way or the other. For me to tap this one's power, and to then bend it to my will, I require a _prima materia_ that includes his essence. I will have it, Lucius."

_Lucius__.__ . ._? Then things clicked into place with an abruptness that left Kyo breathless. Now that he thought about it, he could see an uncanny resemblance to someone – to the Malfoy boy that attended Hogwarts. 'Lucius' was the name of Draco's father, a confirmed Death Eater who had been sentenced to Azkaban. Oh. If he hadn't been so busy over-reacting to the Dark Lord's presence earlier, he would have remembered it sooner; Lucius was the one that Voldemort had said had come home from the wizarding prison changed. The one who had trouble feeling things. Unintentionally, the boy's gaze searched the pallid face that had once been handsome just as the darkening pewter of the man's eyes rose and captured his. Behind the elegantly civilized facade lived something horrific, an evil not too far different from what Kyo saw in the man's soul-less master. Lucius Malfoy held his eyes, trapped, until he felt his heart begin to hammer frantically within the cage of his ribs, until shadows crept inward, consuming his vision. When there was nothing left in the world but those living mercury-bright eyes, the wizard abruptly looked away, bored with the one-sided contest. Kyo sucked in a shuddering breath, one that he had been sure he would never get to take.

What was with these people? When he and his friends had flown against the Gods of the Hunt, and he had invoked the powers of Air, Kyo had seen that the bright sparks of the attacking Death Eaters' souls were overlaid by a serpentine darkness that twisted the very fabric of the world around them. But that had been nothing compared to what he felt from these two. Malfoy sucked not only the life-giving air from his lungs, but will and hope from his heart. And, if that was bad, it was nothing compared to the void, the absence of hope and sustaining love that he felt whenever the Dark Lord came near. The minion was a feeble copy of the master, but even that copy made Kyo want to curl up and hide, naked and helpless as he was without his powers to protect him, much less fight back.

"He doesn't look much like an Elemental Mage, let alone the first one to control all four Elements in centuries." Lucius tipped his chair back on two legs, rocking lazily. "Do you think it possible to create the _Quinta__ Essentia_ and use it to destroy Hogwarts?"

"Yes. It took me a little time to locate the appropriate texts in the library, but my memory has always been excellent." At the table behind Malfoy, Voldemort reached for a slim book bound in dark blue calf skin and began flipping though its pages. "This is Ruland's treatise, the _Lexicon alchemiæ sive dictionarium alchemisticum, cum obscuriorum verborum, et rerum Hermeticarum, tum Theophrast-Paracelsicarum phrasium, planam explicationem continens_, published in 1612. I first came across it while I was attempting to learn the whereabouts of Flamel's Stone. Ruland, however, speaks concerning the alteration of the _Quinta__ Essentia_, or the White Stone, by means of fixing the _prima materia_ with the soul of a sacrificial subject. . .the Vessel of the Four Elements. Ah, here is the passage I want. Attend me, Lucius. Even you can learn." The dark wizard paused, then began to read in a sibilant hiss from the open book in his hand. The words fell like shards of lead in Kyo's mind. _That's me he's talking about. **I'm** the Vessel. . . ._

" 'There is also a Power within the seeds of bodies, even the seminal life of all things, whether vegetable, animal or mineral, which do propagate and continue their species by means of seminal generation. There is a seed of individuals, according to the three Kingdoms of Nature, and this seed is diverse in each, and is the matter of interest to Chemists. In the Mineral Kingdom, this sperm is the Sulfur of Metals – an unctuous, sulphurous, and mercurial vapor, says Aristotle. In the combination of Man's Essence and that of Mineral, may a new thing be created, that is as yet unlike the _prima materia_ of the Magnum Opus. The outward appearance of the _prima materia_ must then be destroyed by fire or acidic solutions, creating the White Stone as the first-stage elixir. After further manipulation within the Vessel of the Four Elements, the whiteness reddens to produce the red rose or the gold, the culmination of the process, and so are the Four Elements commanded and brought to obedience.'" The cold voice fell silent as he closed the book with a snap, then he continued, "So, as I told you, I have the boy, and the rest falls into place."

A roar of laughter greeted the words and Lucius let the legs of his chair down onto the marble floor with a sharp crack. "Oh, my Lord. . .To think you went looking for immeasurable wealth, and immortality, and found the secret to power, instead." Still laughing, the fair wizard rose and clapped a slow round of applause for his master.

"Indeed, Lucius. I had no doubt that you – of all people – would appreciate the irony." Voldemort tossed the little book onto the stone table. "I've also located Artephius' _Libre__ Arcanus_. He gives surprisingly explicit directions for the processes, given the passion with which most Alchemists have encrypted their secrets over the centuries." Within the shadow of his hood, the Dark Lord's eyes glistened a feral red. His regard shifted from his favorite lieutenant to the Japanese boy suspended in the ensorcelled net of hair, and Kyo could have sworn that the invisible face smiled coldly. "In fact, compared to Flamel's Magnum Opus, this shall be very easy, indeed."

Still amused, Malfoy walked a slow circuit around their prisoner. "A pity though, that he's a boy. Do you think it possible, my Lord, that he's been transfigured from a girl? That might explain the image we saw in the Mirror."

Kyo hissed, anger crackling from his eyes as he leaned farther into the cutting hairs, wanting nothing more than to claw out those slate-metal eyes that raked his body with such careless contempt. "I have no fucking idea what sort of crack you're on, you sick bastard, but I'm as much a male as you fucking are!" He stopped struggling against the bonds when thin streams of red threatened to join the dried and crusty lines already marking him but the anger never relented. Some part of him, silly as it might be given the situation he was in, was royally pissed off at the insinuation. Just because he was fucking married to a fucking guy didn't mean he was a fucking _female_. And what the hell had Malfoy meant with the Mirror?

But his righteous anger died a quick, loathsome death when those mocking eyes merely glinted with amusement. His stomach gave a nervous little flip-flop as the prowling wizard passed around behind his back again.

"Ah, he speaks. And only to argue. Perhaps I ought to do something about that?" Hands grabbed his hips roughly, and a violent yank dragged him to the limits of his tether. Something pressed up close to his back and a harsh whisper in his ear made his blood run cold; "I'll wager that I could teach you the meaning of 'submissive', female or not. What say you, _boy_, shall we give it a whirl?" Teeth closed on the rim of Kyo's ear, biting down until he felt the crush of cartilage. Involuntarily, he gave a stifled gasp of pain, and was shoved to the other extreme of his bonds. Then, just as suddenly, Lucius gave a low, unpleasant laugh. "Perfect," he chuckled again, malice clear in the sound. "I know just how to handle this."

Kyo sagged blindly in his bonds, the slam of the door marking Malfoy's exit. Voldemort was still blithely working away at his little lab bench; a Dark Lord playing with his chemical set and making Enma knew what. Dread, sharper, colder and more noxious than the fumes that curled and wove in serpentine abandon around his legs spiked through his guts. What was wrong with him? Was he truly that weak, to give in to petty anger and rage, just because of an insult, intentional or otherwise? His and Hisoka's lives were on the line, and from what little he could understand of the previous talk on long dead people who played God, he was in a shit load of trouble.

But currently, he could not spare the rationality to speculate just what exactly Voldemort had meant with his babbling on Vessels and essences. The implied threat Lucius Malfoy had left him with was the more direct hazard that he could easily identify and for an uncounted time since he woke up in the tangling net of cursed hairs, Kyo wished desperately to have Takashi by his side.

* * *

Lucius prowled about the room absently touching the corner of a table, or stroking fingers along the honey paneled walls. The tiny, sensuous touches failed to bring him any comfort, just as the skillfully aimed blows he had delivered to the diminutive boy had failed. Discontented, he circled one last time and returned to his captive.

The child was still held immobilized, head drooping, in the clever framework of age-darkened iron and wood that dominated the center of the Malfoy lord's 'playroom.' For an instant, Lucius considered hopefully that the slim figure was merely shamming, but no, he was indeed unconscious. It was so. . .disappointing. Lucius dropped into the fancifully carved chair that stood facing the frame, and slid down to slouch. His gloved fingers drummed restlessly on the chair's arm, and he sighed. He really had hoped to delay resorting to potions to revive his toy, but there was no help for it.

He had plans for the boy. One which particularly appealed to his sense of delicate power plays and just that classy touch of drama. His Lord had made it clear what he needed to make that perfect weapon and he was only too happy to help his Master achieve the crucial ingredient. And the boy playing possum had no part in it.

In one thing, however, his Master had been completely correct: The brat's gift of empathy had rendered him naturally immune to both Legilimency and to the Imperious. Not that that had protected him from the silver-headed cane that could strike at organs and joints with surgical precision. The boy. . .'Kurosaki,' had made some gratifying noises before unconsciousness removed him from the playing field. Lucius extended his hand and snapped his fingers.

The house elf that responded to his summons was female, and even smaller and scruffier than the normal run of Malfoy servants. She stood at the absolute limit of the distance she could keep from her lord, eyes downcast, entire body trembling. Her long ears drooped unevenly, one having being broken in the past and inexpertly healed. Lucius barely acknowledged her presence except to snap, "Brandy, and my kit."

"Yes, Master," she whispered, blinking out. Lucius ignored her exit in favor of the boy, already deep in thought as to what his next move should be.

It had presented him with a quandary, but now an idea surfaced, and he felt calmer. The Dark Lord had charged him to learn what he could concerning both the origins and intentions of the Japanese, and also what the latest plans of Dumbledore's Army of Misfits might be. The little velvet-lined case that appeared, together with a hovering tray and a snifter of brandy beside his elbow, included a number of handy items. He had scalpels in it, charmed to razor sharpness, a number of tiny, sterling silver clamps that were useful for bringing werewolves to heel, and vials of potions that could produce an interesting variety of effects. Among them, he had a formulation of Veritaserum that had been outlawed by the Ministry for inducing feelings of deep paranoia as it laid open the secrets of the mind. Lucius's once-generous mouth quirked into a cold smile. That Veritaserum would be just the thing for breaking down the brat's insolence. Under its influence, he would no longer be quite so defiant. . .Yet, once the serum wore off, he would have full awareness of all that he had said, and done. Lucius considered that it just might be. . .fun. . .to see the boy reeling in shame and disorientation. He picked up the brandy and savored a mouthful, then tipped in the contents of one, small, greenish vial.

It proved shockingly easy to get the liquid into the child; simply jerk his head up, pinch the nostrils until his mouth gaped open in search of oxygen, and pour. Startled green eyes snapped open even as a reflexive cough and swallow sent the mixture of alcohol and drug straight to his stomach. Debilitated as he was by the suppression of his magic, exhaustion, and physical pain, it was no surprise to see the shock on the boy's delicate face blur into drunkenness. Lucius chuckled. Of course, given the figure's small mass, it was a given that the alcohol should affect him so. And it did make such a wonderful carrier for the Veritaserum.

It was time for the game to begin.

Lucius circled the restraining frame, amused that his toy struggled to find his balance, to turn a head that bobbled on its thin neck to follow his slow, deliberate movements. He paused behind the child, in that precise spot where no amount of craning made visibility possible, and ran the slick leather of his gloved hand gently down one bare arm. It jerked to the limits of the bindings that held it forcibly bent into a relaxed posture. Lucius considered adjusting the restraints until the slim shoulder was bent back to the point of dislocation, and decided not to. He could always do so at a later time, once he had tired of the more chemical treats in his repertoire. Instead, he leaned in close to the barely visible curve of one translucent, pale ear and whispered in his harsh crow's voice, "Tell me. . .is it true that you spread your legs for older men?"

The boy flinched so hard that he nearly gutted himself on the blunted knives positioned along his waist. "I. . ." Kurosaki clamped down on the traitorous words trying to escape his pretty mouth.

Lucius leaned in beside the other fragile shoulder, and breathed lightly on the boy's other ear. "You want to tell me. . .You know you do. You have to. You see, your own body will punish you if you don't answer every question truthfully." Lightly, he kissed the upper rim of the ear where it was visible between strands of silky hair. "Do you like being fucked, little toy? Do you?"

A sob was wrung from the squirming form. "Yes! Yes, you bastard!"

At the horrified admission, the Dark wizard smiled, took hold of the collar of the once white shirt in front of him, adjusted his grip minutely, and wrenched at the bloodied fabric. It tore, splitting open down the length of the pale back. "I have so many questions," he continued in a soft, intimate murmur. "I want to know who sent you and your fellows. I want to know what your arrangements are with that old fraud, Dumbledore. And you will tell me. Everything."

"N- no!" The defiance in the ragged cry brought a frown to the older man's twisted features. How strange. The boy shouldn't have been able to muster so much resistance. An ugly red flush was spreading over the thin, milky skin in front of him, and Kurosaki's breathing was becoming increasingly labored. He couldn't be allowed to refuse.

Lucius reached for an iron lever and pulled on it. The restraints obligingly bent the boy at his waist, extending his pale arms in the machine's implacable grasp. Lucius stepped to one side and brought the fanged head of his cane down in a whistling arc that split the skin across one taut shoulder blade. The brat howled endearingly, sobbed, and spit a breathless curse at the English wizard.

"Who sent you?"

"Go. . .to. . .hell."

The cane lashed out at one straining hip, wringing a wet sound from the joint.

"Again, who do you work for?"

An inarticulate, wheezing, near-hysterical laugh was all he got.

"M- M- Master." Squeaky stuttering from somewhere near his knee interrupted Lucius's narrow-eyed contemplation of his recalcitrant plaything. Furious, the wizard spun about, raising the silver headed cane. The scrawny house elf curled into a ball in the face of his wrath, covering her head with skinny arms. But the muffled voice continued nonetheless. "M- Master's visitors are here."

The fair wizard's lip curled in annoyance, but then his countenance smoothed as an idea occurred to him. His Master had given him permission to treat with the delegates from the various Dark camps. Perhaps there was some benefit to be gained by inviting them into his private playroom? "Puck," he snapped. "Are the lycanthropes here?"

"Y- yes, Master. Is two of them. One is dark and one is fair." She had yet to unroll from her cowed position on the floor. Lucius tapped the back of the snakes's head on his cane against his teeth, thinking. Dark. . .that would be Akela O'Meara, the half Irish, half Hindu wolf. And pale. . .One of the Russians, although Malfoy had to admit that he was unsure which. The spelled letter than had come from the east European packs had been less than clear, hostility and suspicion rendering the communication abrupt.

"What else?" demanded the wizard. _Not 'who,' but always 'what.' How revolting to be forced to work with subhumans, _he thought irritably. As if she could follow his thoughts, the house elf cringed even farther into herself.

"Is ghoul, but not tame one."

"Ah." Now that was pleasing news. He had been half-expecting the feral ghouls to avoid his invitation. They were nothing like their stupid, largely helpless cousins that were nearly domesticated by the easy life they lead around wizards. Those useless creatures deserved to be swept away with the low bred Muggle-born wizards as another form of pollution. His gray eyes flicked to the boy sagging against the machine's hold, patches of flushed red skin and brighter blood stark against the unhealthy white of his thin body, and the dark browns and blacks of wood and wrought iron. The nasty smile tugged at his misshapened face, distorting the scars even farther.

The scent of so much blood ought to drive his guests – all three of them – mad with hunger. Maybe he should offer to let them have a taste?

* * *

"Are you just going to stand aside and let this—this travesty _happen?!_"

Dumbledore's generous mouth thinned in displeasure, even if a part of him agreed with the old ex-Auror's rather voluble protest. The Japanese stayed quiet, Tsuzuki eyeing the Order members present with something akin to dark impatience flashing in his expressive eyes while Matsumada stayed lost in his trance. The Headmaster had agreed with their method of searching based on general principles; he had not known about the finer details, harried as they were with making the best use of time. Already in the intervening hours after Harry's vision, both Matsumada and Tsuzuki had reported a growing strain on their bonds with their respective partners; sure sign that the two young men who had valiantly protected the school were in deep trouble.

Dumbledore rubbed his mouth in frowning thoughtfulness. While he had inadvertently become the poster figure for Light magic, the aged wizard was by no means prejudiced in his views. He knew the truth, that white is white and black is black, and that it was human intentions that turned black into evil and white into good. And Moody himself held to the same. But they were not completely unbiased. Some lines had to be drawn. And he suspected that the Japanese were rapidly approaching one. Snape by his side, offered no comment, not with Moody there and likely quick to blame the Dark Mark for what Dumbledore knew would be Snape's ready acceptance of what the Japanese proposed. For the Potions Master truly held firm in his belief that the ends justified the means.

"Tsuzuki," Dumbledore said slowly, furiously ordering his thoughts even as he raised his dimmed blue eyes to meet the man's. "You are walking a fine line here. Necromancy is not a matter to be treated with impunity."

"If you would condemn our methods on that, then you might as well classify us, Hisoka and Kyo included, as Dark wizards," Tsuzuki answered, voice low and quiet yet carrying throughout the entire length of the chamber clearly. He shifted on the balls of his feet; not a sign of uneasiness but merely relieving the ache of hours spent on weary feet. "We have said this time and time again. We are onmyouji. Spiritualists. We deal with ghosts and the unquiet shades every day."

"But—" Remus looked warily between Tsuzuki and Dumbledore, "Tsuzuki, summoning spirits is something not condoned by wizarding society. It's just one step below raising the dead."

That earlier dark impatience flashed again. Tsuzuki huffed, crossing his arms across his chest as he frowned, annoyance clear on his mobile face. "And we view your practice of allowing spirits to remain in the mortal realm as an affront to the deity we serve," he shot back. "Death is the balance for life and we help to maintain that balance. It is not our place to assume such responsibilities here," he was quick to assure with a sigh. "And we will respect that but _time is running out_. If you have problems accepting the fact that what we practice is what _you _perceive as the Dark Arts, feel free to argue with us later. Right now, our partners, _taken while defending this school and its students, _are in trouble and we are wasting time!"

A loaded silence fell in between. Takashi was still oblivious to the heavy current running through the room as the Order members exchanged uneasy glances, reminded of the fact that two students were in the hands of the Dark Lord. Two days had passed and every witch and wizard there knew, some intimately, of the horrors that could be visited upon a captive of Voldemort in that space of time.

Tsuzuki spoke up again, this time, his voice soft and quiet, heavy with dread that vibrated in their chests, causing ice to replace the warm blood in their bodies.

"We have to get them back as soon as possible." Tsuzuki closed his eyes, the pale skin underneath purpled with bruises. "We need to know if they are aware of Voldemort possessing Muraki's journals and what they have managed to find out about it, as well as how much progress Voldemort has made." His next words were laced with dire warning that even Trelawney would despair of copying on her best days.

"If you think Voldemort is so terrible, you have _no idea _of the horrors he could unleash, armed with Muraki's knowledge. He will be able to open Hell on earth, _literally_."

Moody was the first to back down. He growled out something unintelligible and even his peg leg, causing a hollow thump with every other step, sounded irritable. But he took a few steps back from the warded circle, a clear sign of his accepting the necessity of such a method. For now. Dumbledore gave a small smile in relief; no matter what he thought personally, he knew that they were likely to be stuck there all night arguing if the irascible wizard refused to give way.

When no one else protested, the others having taken their lead from both Dumbledore and Moody, Tsuzuki graced them with a small, tired smile. He took back his relaxed stance facing Matsumada, legs shoulder-width apart and arms hanging loose by his side. Eyes closed, a deep cleansing breath, another, and Tsuzuki opened his eyes, the light within shining steady. He raised his hands to chest level and with his gaze firmly locked on his friend, his hands formed complex, interlocking mudras; the shapes too fast and fluid for any of the wizards or witches to follow.

"Ugram viram maha visnum jvalantam sarvatomukham, nrsimham bhisanam bhadram mrtyu mrtyum namamy aham."

_May my head be protected by the moon colored one, who is the greatest among humans. My obeisances unto the ferocious and powerful, the great Visnu, the fiery one, whose faces are on all sides, the fearful one, Nrsimha, who causes the death of even death personified._

The first outer ring of their chalk construct flared with ice-cold blue fire, blinding those watching with the afterimages as the flash died away to a steady glow. Matsumada, within the wards, started to imitate Tsuzuki's still-forming mudras. Even with his eyes closed, they saw clearly that the two Japanese were shaping the strange, physical part of their spell in perfect tandem.

Again, Tsuzuki repeated his prayer.

"Ugram viram maha visnum jvalantam sarvatomukham, nrsimham bhisanam bhadram mrtyu mrtyum namamy aham."

The inner circle burned with that same fire and the combined glow was brighter than the torches.

"Sarva jvara vinasaya daha daha paca paca raksa raksa. Ksraum ugram viram maha visnum jvalanatam sarvatomukham nrsimham bhisanam, bhadram mrtyu mrtyum namamy aham. ksraum bhagavate narasimhya jvalamaline dipta damstrayagni netraya sarva rakso ghnaya sarva bhuta vinasanaya svaha!"

_Unto He who vanquishes all fevers, oblations. Burn and burn, cook and cook, protect protect. My obeisances unto the ferocious and powerful, the great Visnu, the fiery one whose faces are on all sides, the fearful one, Nrsimha, who causes the death of even death personified, or who can overcome even death. Unto the Personality of Godhead Narasimha, garlanded with blazing energy, whose teeth are glowing and whose eyes are fiery, who kills all raksasas and demons and annihilates the ghosts, to You my oblations!_

The pentagram and arcane writings smoldered with liquid flames and the energy in the chamber could be almost physically felt. Jones actually felt her knees buckling with the pressure. McGonagall quickly caught her by her elbow and both women leaned against each other, faces awed. Despite their trepidations, none present could deny that the magics wrought by Tsuzuki was anything but awesome. Different though the style used, each could feel the intricate layers that imbued the warding spell, complex protections that cut through space and time as easily as scissors through silk. Added to that the spiritual signature of the deities whose protection the Japanese invoked, the Order _truly _understood then what Tsuzuki had meant by his warning of letting Voldemort have unrestricted access to this Dr. Muraki's spellworkings. If a 'Light' onmyouji could work a spell of this magnitude merely in chalk, what could a 'Dark' one do, unhindered as he was by moral and ethical obligations?

Tsuzuki fell silent when the entire construct was burning with the fey light. The pale glow washed over Matsumada, a figure wrought of hair the coppery shade of old blood and pale marble skin. The former doctor continued the mudras, Tsuzuki and the others watching avidly as he chanted in a low voice, "On vajra dharma kiri shawa, on sanmaji handomei kiriku, on vajra dharma kiri shawa, on sanmaji handomei kiriku. . ." The prayer was repeated, steady and almost hypnotic, lulling the listeners with the slow, throbbing power that suffused each syllable till it seemed that even the magically glowing construct pulsed in time with it. Matsumada continued, even as white mist drifted out from nowhere, blanketing the floor with cold haze that dimmed the fire of the wards till it seemed as if Matsumada was floating on an island of will o' wisps.

At first, the mist was just that. Mist. A soupy fog that twined in sinuous shapes, vague and half-formed before falling back into the roiling mass which strangely enough, gravitated towards Matsumada. The man himself was still chanting lowly, never faltering in his rhythm as the tendrils of white caressed his face, ruffled his hair like an ephemeral lover and draped delicate arms around his form.

Tsuzuki stepped forward and broke that strange expectancy that clung to each and every one of them, Madam Pince included who stared in wide-eyed fascination from her little bastion of scrolls and maps.

Tsuzuki held out his right hand, fingers forming a prayer symbol as he intoned, "In the name of Enma, Lord of Judgment and the Afterlife, I bid you to appear before us."

Almost, the Order members could make out an indistinct shape rising out from the mist, coiling over and around Matsumada before hovering over him, a nebulous cloud that seemed to ask a silent question.

"We mean you no harm," Tsuzuki continued softly, hand still held out before him. "We summon only to beseech your help. We seek no banishment. On our Lord's Honor, we give you our word."

At that, whatever presence it was that hid itself in the cloak of fog seemed satisfied. It still clung to Matsumada like torn and ratty taffies of silk, but pushed and prodded by an unfelt breeze, the vapors condensed, swirling and whirling tighter and tighter till it formed a human-like shape from head to torso, its lower body disappearing back into shapeless mist which anchored itself on to Matsumada.

Like film processed in that selection of potions that breathed life into inanimate picture, texture, colour and detail manifested itself until everyone could make out the spirit's features. Long hair, straight yet luxuriously thick fell down her back and the ephemeral wash of colour darting through her form indicated that alive, her hair was the glory of a pale winter sun, gold that hinted and teased the senses.

For the barest instant, the Headmaster thought that they had managed to bring back that poor wretch, Narcissa, and he saw by the shocked widening of Snape's eyes that he thought it as well. But the most recent Lady Malfoy was only a thin copy of the regal figure that materialized before them.Her garments caught their attention; the bare suggestion of calf-high leather boots with legs that encased in fine silken hose. The outfit was completed with a knee-length tunic of mail and over it another tunic of rich, dark blue wool. The ghost's bearing was proud and straight; befitting her obvious warrior status. And if any doubted the spirit's presence as one that could help them, her eyes gave her away; a shade of silver that none there could mistake for anything but Malfoy blood.

She paid the others in the chamber no heed, choosing instead to focus her entire regard on the silently waiting Tsuzuki. The ghost, still tied to Matsumada, bowed low from her waist and greeted the Japanese.

Or at least, they assumed she did. None there could understand the words she spoke; a low, husky and seductive language that tantalized for its near-familiarity. Realisation dawned on the Headmaster's face and he quickly stepped up the boundary of the wards. The ghost flicked her silver eyes to him, noting the wand he held and her eyes narrowed. But Dumbledore merely performed a familiar flick and twirl, one that Tsuzuki recognized as the translator charm they had had Fudge perform on themselves months ago.

The ghost appeared to recognize it as well. A brief smile lit her face, softening the aristocratic lines into something friendlier. Again, she bowed and greeted Tsuzuki, with a quick nod to the others assembled.

"Harbinger," she said to Tsuzuki. "How may I assist you?"

* * *

Getting tortured was really damned annoying, Hisoka thought woozily. Although, to be completely honest, for once his low tolerance to alcohol was working in his favor; the large quantity of brandy that the Dark wizard had poured into him was doing a nice job of holding the pain at bay. Too bad it couldn't do the same for the fever burning across his skin. That odd taste to the liquor had to have been some kind of a poison, or maybe a potion? He licked his lips, tasting again the bitter residue. _Potion_, he decided after his sluggish brain had mulled it over for a while. There was something about the way Malfoy had flung the questions at him that suggested an expectation of obedience. And that suggested. . .what? The answer was right there, just out of reach, but he was having trouble figuring it out.

"You are sure no one is missing this _mal'chik_?" The low rumble came from close by, from practically within touching distance. Hisoka dragged his gaze up from the polished snowfield of the white marble floor; encountering pointy-toed boots in glossy dark red leather, loose trousers in navy blue, a matching tunic that reached to mid-thigh, and finally, an angular, masculine face with blue eyes that were nearly as colorlessly pale as Kyo's. Ill, the boy stared blearily, barely registering nostrils that flared in revulsion, or a thick fall of hair the color of a Malfoy's. The strangely intent eyes of a predator fixed on his own, capturing them mercilessly until Hisoka was forced to let his head sag in weariness. Sound bouncing between the honey-colored stone of the walls, with their fancifully carved borders of cherubs and swags of fruit, and the starkly white floor was giving him a headache and destroying his concentration in ways he could not afford. The last thing the Shinigami needed, befuddled as he was, was for the big man to see anything more than an abused youngster hanging in the baroque framework of Lucius's torture device.

Think of the devil, and there he was. Lucius, easily identified by his harsh, discordant voice answered with indifference. "And what of it? Those who care about his existence have no way to reach him here."

The unknown man grunted; the sound conveying skepticism and derision.

Something dry and cold grasped the calf of Hisoka's leg, sliding upward toward his knee. Calluses and the roughness of thickened claws rasped against the nearly invisible hairs, rubbing them the wrong way. He shuddered at the touch, the muffling protection of drunkenness fraying away. As the alcohol lost its power over him, his breath came in rapid little pants, and the drug's effects alternated dizzyingly between fever and muscle-wrenching chills. The hand paused on his thigh, holding him steady, and to the empath's horror a long tongue rasped over the swollen bruise on his hip. Hatred, patient as stone, washed over him with the touch. "Wisssszard blood isss sssweet." an inhuman voice hissed.

"Ugh! Get away from him, you nasty piece of filth!" A woman's exclamation brought with it a surge of dizzy hope that was dashed just as rapidly as she continued, saying "We're not done with him yet. He hasn't answered a single question." The sound of a slap accompanied the sudden departure of the coarse hand.

Contrary tears prickled Hisoka's eyes as he fought off the urge to laugh. Questions. . .he had answered one, he remembered, mortification and self-pity washing over him. _Do you like being fucked? _Oh, Enma consign him to the lowest hell, he had replied in that brief moment when the mix of alcohol and potion had caught him unawares. _Yes! You bastard!_

"He may not answer," Lucius remarked carelessly. "Whether it is conditioning, or an allergy, the brat does not respond well to Veritaserum."

"Holy Mary and Vishnu," the lilting, feminine voice continued. "I've no quarrel with the master o' Hogwarts for using such wee children, but surely he sees what a waste o' time they be. There's none of them strong enough to be worth the trouble. For even if he makes them proof against Veritaserum, there be other ways to break them."

Veritaserum. That explained the tightness in his chest, and the fever heat that coursed through his body in waves. At the same instant, a storm of shame swept over the blond, and he had to stifle a sob. And hard on the heels of _that _was an image of Tsuzuki, so clear that he could nearly touch him, saying _I love you, 'Soka-chan. But if you aren't ready for this, I won't care._ The humiliation faded into bewilderment. Why was he ashamed of loving his husband, or of wanting him? The gentle, sweet-natured man was the best thing that had ever happened to him. The feelings attendant on Lucius' questioning; they weren't his own. Comprehension left him strengthened, and weak with relief.

Hisoka forced his eyes to open, and struggled to get his feet under him again so that he stood relatively straight under his own power. The first thing that he saw was a mostly hairless, naked gray creature; thin and bent nearly double under the prominent hump of its narrow back. It crouched on its haunches beside him, staring with malevolently intelligent black eyes. Beyond it was a slim woman with skin like coffee mixed with cream, long, glossy black hair spilling to her waist. The empath realized with some surprise that she was even shorter than he was, but the way she planted her hands on her hips and glared with chocolate brown eyes made him wary of underestimating her power. It spun around her in a vortex visible to his dulled senses, silent and deadly. She let fly a surprisingly Gaelic curse and swatted at the gray monster when it reached slyly for Hisoka again. The thing gave a humorless hissing laugh then darted to a chair on the sidelines with a speed that made it seem to teleport.

"Piece o' shite," she added without rancor. The creature snickered again. For the barest instant, there was pity in the look that she shot the captive boy. But she made no move to approach him, nor did she argue with Malfoy for his release.

"Enough, Akela." A low, warning growl directed Hisoka's attention back to the big man clad in blue that stood beside Lucius. For an instant, the platinum blond hair made the empath think he was seeing double, but then his vision steadied and he took in the Slavic-styled embroidery on the high collar of the man's tunic, and the decorative patterns tooled into his leather belt and boots. The hate-filled blue eyes met his for a second, then flicked to the Dark wizard in his black robes. "_Boyar_ Malfoy, you invite us here to speak of offers. Then, let us speak. Let us hear what your Master will to give for our aid."

"My Lord Voldemort? Give? I think you misunderstand, Phzhirat' s Zhadnost'yu. Rather I think you should consider what you have to offer _us_." Lucius replied negligently, his heavily scarred features lighting with malice as he seated himself. The perfectly cut robes settled with careless elegance around him as he gazed up at the still standing form. Akela cut across the Russian's low growl of displeasure.

"Don't fuck with us, Master Malfoy. I've seen what your kind do, both in the Raj, and in Ireland, herself. I'll have naught to do with such a fine English lord if it means giving me pack over to the likes of you." Fury pinched Akela's delicate features as she stepped up beside the massive Russian. His hand brushed the nape of her neck, casually pressing her head down into a pose of submission. The bristling woman spun out from under his touch, spitting at him. "And that goes double for you, Man-Eater. I've heard the stories o' the villages destroyed in your territory. Me and mine, we've no use for the likes o' you, either."

"Silence, Carrion Wolf." His heavily accented words were chillingly angry, but his gaze remained fixed on Malfoy, and it was to the English wizard that his next words were addressed. "I do not beg for scraps by human whim, _Boyar_. I have seen nothing that says the Patriciates should be trusted. Your blood is still the same color as any other human, for all your pretensions." But when he turned to leave the coldly beautiful room, Lucius' voice rang out behind him.

"Tell me, do you enjoy how the so-called followers of the Light treat you? Did you enjoy it when your father disowned both you, and your mother?"

Phzhirat halted, shoulders and back gone stiff at the hit. A harsh rumbling built in his broad chest.

"Wouldn't you rather," the Dark wizard continued. "Have an opportunity to demonstrate what you think of them? _They'll_ never accept you. But my Lord Voldemort has a place for you at his side. _He_ will give you what you want; revenge for all their petty insults, for all the scorn that they've shown your kind. All you have to do is join us."

Forgotten by the others, Hisoka shivered. There was no doubt in his mind that the pale Russian was dangerous. Even with his empathy reduced to something approximating a normal person's, there was no mistaking the aura of darkness and frozen rage surrounding the man. He was akin to the blond Englishman in ways more fundamental than appearance alone; there was true evil in them both.

Abruptly, Phzhirat spoke. "You will give us _lunnyj__ svet spirtnoj napitok_, the Moonlight Potion. As much as we require. In exchange, I will bring you six packs. Nearly two hundred who can fight and kill without hesitation. You will not interfere with us when we hunt, and in return, you may direct us to those you want dead. It is acceptable?"

"Very," Lucius chuckled, a sound as pleasant as breaking glass. "I will enjoy seeing the faces of those fools when they realize what's after them." Eyes dancing with sudden amusement, his gaze flicked to Akela, standing stiff and mute to the side. "And you, Miss O'Meara, would you like some Moonlight Potion, as well?"

Staring at her, Hisoka was sure that the faint tightening of her mouth, and the half-clench of the hands by her side meant that she was not happy to be offered the potion, whatever its purpose. Apparently Malfoy saw it as well, for his crow's laugh rang out in the expectant stillness. It stung her already volatile temper to anger. "No, Malfoy, we do _not_ want that sick potion of yours. And as for the other things, I'll be speaking with the packs before I agree to aught. As it seems you have other things to occupy you, I'll be leaving you now." Her disgusted glance took in the tall Russian and the crouching ghoul, but skittered over Hisoka where he stood trapped in the center of the chamber.

Unaccountably, his heart sank. Not that he had had any expectations that Akela O'Meara would help him, but her departure meant the loss of the only possibly sympathetic person in that claustrophobic room. Hisoka had a feeling that this wasn't going to end well, at all.

* * *

"You jest, Harbinger." The Lady Beatrice's gaze narrowed to rapier-thin sharpness, her arms crossed. The past half an hour had been filled with bringing the Lady, confirmed to be an ancestor of the modern Malfoys, up to date. Which included retelling the story of how the illustrious name of the Malfoys came to be associated with the Dark Arts and the Darkest wizard to walk the earth. Agitation made her uncross her arms and she drifted closer to the innermost circle, carefully staying clear from crossing the still-glowing lines.

"We fled our birth land because of persecution, of unfair accusations aligning our name with those who would plunge the land into deeper darkness." Her form swayed distractedly from side to side, just the thinnest trail still connecting her to the quietly chanting Matsumada. She brought her gloved hand up to her face, curling her fist. "We refused to let them cast our family into oblivion and each of us has paid in blood to see our children live and carry the name, to remember us even if history would not! And now Harbinger, you assure me that they have cast their lot with the very forces we were unjustly accused of allying with?"

Tsuzuki's downcast eyes were answer enough and the Lady hissed, slamming her fist into an open palm. "For shame!" she raged and her anger reacted with the wards, the circles' sullen light blazing briefly.

"My Lady."

She whirled around and for a moment, her form blurred indistinct with the force of her movement. It was Dumbledore who spoke, hands clasped together in front of him and the twinkle in his eyes replaced with a solemn look.

"All is not lost," he said softly and he met her furious stare head on. "There lives yet an heir of your family, one whom we hope to wean away from his father's calling to the Dark side. He is here, under this school's protection and we will not give him up without a fight."

The fury lightened, the lines that bracketed the Lady Beatrice's mouth easing away. She nodded once, a regal acknowledgement and she straightened, absently tugging the hem of her tunic. "I thank you for that," she said quietly. To Tsuzuki, she addressed her next question. "A Harbinger would not call one such as I for nothing," she observed and Tsuzuki took care to not show any emotion as the wizards and witches exchanged wondering looks. The Japanese had been called that oddly formal title several times but none seemed inclined to ask the ghost what she meant by it. "How may I help you?" she repeated herself.

The brunette bowed his head, fists clenched. His voice, when he spoke, practically vibrated with tension that hinted at rigid control of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

"Our partners have been taken captive by Voldemort's forces." He lifted his head and even if his voice betrayed him, his face did not. "We believe that they are held at the Malfoy's ancestral demesne but we cannot rescue them, with the House and land rendered invisible to trespassers with an Unplottable charm. Can you help us?"

Spirit and human locked gazes, neither speaking nor moving save for the slow undulation of white fog and low torches. The Lady Beatrice was the first to break the stillness; she bowed, deeper this time, saluting Tsuzuki with fist over heart. "For what my family has done to yours, I will gladly do so."

Relief washed visibly over Tsuzuki and he gave his own bow in return. "Thank you, my Lady."

"But I cannot reveal to you the exact location," she warned them. "Even in death we are bound by the geas that protects the family. I will only be able to point you to a location several leagues from the House and nothing more. The rest, Harbinger, will be up to you."

"Nevertheless, we thank you. Your assistance would be more than enough."

A humourless smile lit her face and Lady Beatrice laughed softly. "It is a sad day indeed when a Malfoy has to depend on a Harbinger to preserve the family honor," she remarked bitterly. She shook her head brusquely, a gesture at odds with the earlier formality and a friendlier smile curved her lips.

"Well, then. Never let it be said that a Malfoy chose the easy path." Her mercury-bright eyes brushed those of the Headmaster, then settled upon Tsuzuki's weary violet ones. The smile that quirked her mouth lost its frail humor, becoming grimly determined as she extended her hand and imperiously snapped gloved fingers, conjuring a powerful short bow with silver fittings from the thin air. An arrow formed in her grasp that shimmered like a mirage, but Lady Beatrice's aim was steady as she drew back and sighted down the room at the map-covered wall. Madame Pince squeaked and scurried out of the way. The ghostly woman ignored her in favor of the tall onmyouji; she marginally inclined her regal head to him, acknowledging a power greater than herself. "God speed, Harbinger."

She released the arrow. In a blur of power it streaked away, trailing sparks like a comet to unerringly strike the center of one of the antique maps. A complex net of runes and interlocking circles blossomed in cold white fire across the faded parchment. At the same instant, the chalked array on the floor flared and collapsed, utterly gone. And with it went the first Lady Malfoy, leaving behind nothing but a thread of whispered sound;

_God speed you all._

* * *

Exhausted, Kyo had settled into an uncomfortable doze, knees locked against the bite of his restraints. He was vaguely conscious of Voldemort, still working in complete absorption at the heavy table, but he was so tired that it no longer mattered that he was in the same room as the undead wizard. If anything, Kyo wished that he could find his way back to a happy dream about Takashi's loving arms, or even about rescuing Snape from the gods. Anything if it got him out of this place. He could almost hear Takashi's cheerful tones when an angry protest, abruptly cut off, snapped him fully awake. The sharp noise of hard boot heels on the gleaming marble floor was punctuated by an aborted cry of rage and a familiar curse. Hisoka. The blond boy fell sprawling to the floor, just in front of Malfoy's empty chair, and rolled awkwardly onto his back. Kyo's initial joy at having the sullen Shinigami back was tempered by a swift stab of worry for the younger boy; Hisoka was completely, absolutely stark naked.

That pale, slender form glowed with an internal light of its own, translucent milk-opal skin stretched over the smooth contours of muscle and bone. Making no effort to cover himself, he lay glaring defiantly up at Malfoy. Hisoka was either angry beyond belief, or simply didn't care about the picture he made; the smooth planes of his chest with its rosy nipples, and the slender waist that led the eye past the hollow of his navel to the penis nestled in soft curls a shade darker than the gold of his hair. But that wasn't what caught at Kyo's attention and made the breath freeze in his lungs. Hisoka's wrists were tied together so tightly that thin lines of red marred the whiteness, reminding the dark haired boy of the days before Muraki's defeat when that perfect surface had been covered by scars that blazed into agony every time his enemy had willed it. It had taken years for the mingled rage and shame to relax to the point where the boy could let Tsusuki near him, before he would allow the gentle Shinigami to love him as he deserved. Kyo made an inarticulate sound of protest, and furious green met his aching blue eyes. Hisoka lifted his chin defiantly, daring Kyo to make some comment about his youthfulness, forever trapped by his nature on the dividing line between child and adult. Forever limited by the weaknesses of his body. But Kyo only shook his head slightly, mouthing silently, _You're__ beautiful._ The faint flush on the other boy's porcelain skin told him that the message had been received.

He _seemed_ uninjured, but Kyo considered nervously how long that was likely to last. His gaze homed in on the tall man in front of his friend, and he glared, promising a world of hurt if anything was to happen to the other boy. Malfoy gave him a knowingly wicked smile, the deep lines that bracketed his full mouth threatening to crack his face into pieces. He jerked the thin cord that connected to Hisoka's arms as though it were the reins controlling a carriage horse, and growled "Get up, brat. Prompt obedience is the least you could do after all those healing potions I've wasted on you."

_Healing potions? _Kyo's eyes widened with realization and sick fury. Lucius had apparently made good with his Master's permission to 'play' with the 'little blond'. He wanted to kill the smirking wizard, to tear that twisted mouth and rip him apart, but he saw again the flash of stubborn anger in Hisoka's eyes. Kyo bit his lip and reined in his anger.

With considerable reluctance, Hisoka obeyed, gathering his legs under him and rising slowly. Malfoy dropped into his ornate chair, one leg carelessly hooked over its arm and grinned malignantly. The smaller boy scowled over his shoulder at his tormentor, and began walking reluctantly toward Kyo.

Abruptly, Hisoka shook violently and stopped dead. On a gut level, Kyo just knew that something was definitely wrong. There was a sheen of sweat on the younger boy's trembling body. It stuck strands of his fine hair to his cheekbones. A desperate hopelessness surged across his features as his resentment and defiance died. Kyo was horrified to see that his lower lip quivered. Kyo would never know for sure what Hisoka had been through with Lucius, but something had been broken inside, and it hurt to watch the pieces grate together. Past Hisoka, Kyo could see the fair Death Eater watching silently, enjoying the weakening struggles of his prey. Lucius felt Kyo's angry glare and quirked a crooked brow at him. He lifted his wand in a mocking salute as he addressed the blond standing between them.

"Remember what I told you, my little darling. I won't lay a hand on _you_, but I'll make sure that _he_ knows that every single, little, intimate thing that happens is thanks to you. And you'll be there so you can hear every curse that he sends your way, and you'll know that he blames you. Think about it; you'll be able to savor every scream, and know that it was all thanks to you." He spoke softly, his cracked and maimed voice curling around Hisoka like a whip, even as his darkening eyes never left Kyo's. "I think I'll start with his fingers. Those lovely, slender fingers would look so-"

"Stop it!" Hioka cried out in anguish. "Just. . .stop it. . ."

"But why? We've already established that for me to torture you would be pointless. But I know the chink in your armor. You wouldn't be able to bear to watch me hurt _him_, would you?" Lucius smiled cruelly. A quiet sob told him that his suppositions were correct.

Confused, the older of the two Shinigami frowned. Malfoy _was_ right – Hisoka would remain furious and defiant through anything that was thrown against him personally but a threat to any of his closest friends would knock the supports out from under him, leaving him helpless. Lucius was obviously a clever enough bastard to have worked that out. But why? What could he possibly want that would justify such a cruel blackmailing of what was to all appearances nothing more than a young boy?

Reluctantly, Hisoka approached him, stopping just short of touching and peering up uncertainly through a fine fall of silken hair. "Do you understand what they want me to do?" he asked, his normally inflectionless voice cracking with dread and trepidation. A faint smile brightened Kyo's wan face.

"Not a clue. But I trust you." he murmured, leaning down as far as the bindings would permit him to plant a quick kiss on the other boy's cheek. Hisoka's eyes widened, gone luminous green. For a panicked second Kyo thought that the unthinkable would happen, and the prickly boy would really cry. Hisoka visibly controlled himself, his expression becoming shuttered as he bottled up his emotions.

"Enough with the talking. Just get on with it, boy," snapped Malfoy. He gave the puppet strings that bound Hisoka to his fingers a savage yank, nearly dumping the boy onto the marble floor. Furious, he spun around, tangling the lines that bound him. Before he could take a single step, Lucius had his wand leveled at his chest. "Don't. Even. Think. It." The look in Malfoy's gleaming silver gaze was primal and hungry; his words were gritted out through clenched teeth. The smaller blond's fists clenched at his sides, and Kyo sucked in a deep breath, ready to shout a warning. This was bad, very bad. The British wizard was looking forward to whatever suicidally stupid move Hisoka might make, and with Hisoka's emotional state swinging wildly between hopelessness, despair, and rage, that was so not a good idea.

Obviously, his friend understood it too, because the fight again drained out of Hisoka's tense form and his shoulders slumped a little. Lucius saw his surrender as well, and an unpleasant, tight smile crossed his ruined features. "So, you're not completely stupid. . ." he drawled, sounding unpleasantly like his son. His hand twitched, and Hisoka's fingers immediately scrabbled at the indentation around his throat from a hair that tightened inexorably. "Apologize, you worthless bint. Or I'll leave you hanging from a hook on the wall and you _can_ watch me take care of your friend."

"No!" Half strangled, Hisoka shouted. "I- " His voice faltered, then resumed in a low mumble. "I apologize." He shot an agonized glance over his bare shoulder at Kyo, eyes pleading for understanding. Malfoy's ebony wand waved lazily, urging him to continue while still holding a steady threat. "I'll do it. Enma forgive me, I said I'll do it."

"Very good. Then you may have the use of your hands," the older wizard purred approvingly. The tip of his wand drew a complex figure, and the unbreakable threads slithered back, rearranging themselves to allow the boy that freedom.

Hisoka steadied himself with a light touch on Kyo's hip, then knelt gracefully in front of him. Dimly, Kyo felt Hisoka's powers slip up around them, and knew that he was fighting as hard as he could to overcome the dampening effect of the magical strands around them. Emotions, skittering rapidly between fear and reassurance washed over him: _I won't hurt you. Don't be afraid. I'm afraid. I won't hurt you. . ._The connection faded. Bewildered, Kyo looked down. Hisoka was kneeling, waiting patiently for some signal from _him_, even though Lucius growled impatiently at them.

The younger boy looked so vulnerable, and more than a little frightened kneeling there, his arms stiff at his sides. His long bangs fell stubbornly into his eyes, the tips of honey strands sharply accented against his pale cheeks. All the color seemed to have been drained out of Hisoka's face as he stared at the glossy marble pavement beneath his knees.

" 'Soka?" Kyo spoke gently, afraid to spook the trembling boy. Sometimes, he forgot that his friend had been a Shinigami for more than thirty years, that while his body would never change, inwardly he was no longer the child that his body would always be. But then again, even the strongest could be made weak by being forced to face something that he dreaded. Kyo tried again. " 'Soka, look at me. What's wrong?"

"Kyo, I-" He stumbled into silence, and instead leaned forward, burying his face in the front of Kyo's blood-stained jeans. Thin arms, made even paler by the contrast to that dark blue fabric, wrapped tightly around him. After a long moment, Hisoka rubbed his forehead against his crotch, and a strong fingered hand began to knead at his buttocks. Panic rose in the pit of Kyo's stomach. He held his breath, beginning to shake, and when he opened his mouth, a quiet whimper was the only sound that came out. This was not at all what he had been prepared for.

It was too much, the dizzy, heady ache. _It wasn't right. . .not Hisoka._ What had Malfoy done, or threatened, to bring this about? Kyo groaned at the feel of his friend's breath, hot and moist, through the fabric of his jeans. He had always thought of blue jeans as the next best thing to armor, just the thing for a modern, urban knight, but now they seemed as insubstantial as mist. Why was the hair on his arms standing on end? Hisoka's hands stroked down the backs of his thighs, and he would have fallen in a boneless heap except that the cutting wires of the magical bindings kept him upright. His pulse beat hard between his legs, and he knew that without a doubt, Hisoka also felt the twitch beneath his cheek. Mortified, Kyo wanted to pull away, but cool finger tips traced the loose waist band of his pants where they hung low on his hips, and the ability to think rationally slipped away on a vacation. It was too much, simply too much. . .Fear lent spice to the delicate touches, and his heart felt as if it would pound its way out of his breast. Kyo stared down at the top of the sleek, wheat gold hair, and felt his stomach drop into his toes. _Oh, Enma help me. I do want him._

His hands clenched, knuckles straining white as he squeezed his eyes closed. Where had his control gone? He wondered, briefly, if Hisoka were using his empathy to get this strong and sharp a response from him, but doubted it. He couldn't feel the mix of restraint and gentleness that characterized the younger boy's mental presence. No, it seemed likely that his mental collapse was all his own doing. He had no one to blame for his behavior but himself. Poor 'Soka - that slimy bastard, Malfoy, was sitting there _watching_ them, for Enma's sake! And, for all he knew, the undead Dark Lord had a front row seat, too. No, that wasn't right. . .On some vague level, he could feel that Voldemort's attention was fixed elsewhere. If it weren't, he'd be drowning in despair right now, instead of trying to hold himself still when what he really wanted was to lean into the slender body that pressed against him – knee, thigh, and other places. . .Hisoka rubbed against him, and he distantly heard a small moan, and a gasp. Kyo would know that weak voice anywhere; it was his own. Panic and dizzying arousal drove the capacity for logic from his brain.

The button on his waistband gave with a small _pop_ and a breath of chilly air from the gold and white marble room penetrated. Hisoka's slim fingers found the point at the small of Kyo's back where sweat slicked his skin, and stroked it as his other hand wriggled the jeans lower on his hips. Sharp teeth bit at him, and Kyo's eyes widened in surprise as the zipper rasped the rest of the way down. The weight of the pants themselves tugged the fabric down over the curve of his rear. A wet kiss in the sensitive hollow beside his hip made Kyo's legs shake. He looked down and met his friend's eyes, gone opaque like jade with something else, then Hisoka's dark lashes quivered, and lowered, obscuring the very real emotions of mingled fear and lust in his gaze. With surprising roughness, he yanked Kyo's jeans down as far as the encircling hair would allow, freeing his erection from the concealing cloth.

Kyo gasped. That silken warmth that closed around him was like nothing he had ever felt before. A shudder ran through Kyo, and it took every ounce of self-control that he could find to not thrust into that wonderful mouth. The brush of something else followed, touching his mind and his heart. It was recognizably Hisoka's ephemeral self, some vestige of his empathic talent finally taking advantage of their intimate contact. Through it, he felt grief, and regret, and a heady mixture of teenaged hormones that screamed at him. Kyo gave a choking laugh and felt a scrape of teeth on his flesh as he began to move voluntarily, caught up in a feedback loop of sensation. Clever hands stroked up the insides of his thighs, and an equally clever tongue teased around him. Warm lips encircled him as he whimpered, then Hisoka was sucking and moving with purpose. Kyo felt a shattering moment where the need was nearly agony. The smaller boy felt it as well, and moved with him, drawing the pain into a shuddering release that racked his body and nearly threw him to the ground, magical bindings or no. His legs trembled and he felt sick, nearly unconscious from forgetting to breathe. Hisoka's arms wrapped tightly around his thighs, steadying him until he could stand alone again.

A sharp, metallic sound, together with mocking applause made Kyo drag his exhausted eyes open. Malfoy was leaning forward in his chair, the expression on his scared features intent and bright. "It didn't take you quite as long as I had hoped, but still, nicely done, boy. And here you told me it would never work. I suppose that this means that there is more to the rumors concerning the lot of you and that Potter than I thought there were, hmm? But then, I never thought those Gryffindors were as innocent as they made themselves out to be."

Hisoka spun half around, releasing his hold on Kyo, who staggered and would have fallen. The dark haired boy bit off a curse and a yelp, barely managing to stay upright. Oddly enough, the smaller blond said nothing, seemed almost to be holding his breath.

"Here is the cup. Be a good boy and do as you're told. Spit it out." The final words were hissed with a venom that would have done the Dark Lord proud. Kyo realized with a sudden, sinking feeling just what Hisoka had been doing, and just what it had to do with Voldemort's harping on 'essences.'

" 'Soka. . .No," he whispered. The avaricious expression on Lucius' face told him more than mere words could. It had never been about the sex, or tormenting Hisoka and him. Or, at least that was a distant second. The dark wizard was fixed on some other goal, and it was far more important to him than this gratification of his nastier impulses could ever be.

Some of that comprehension was dawning in his kneeling companion, as well. For a second, the mutinous look on Hisoka's face suggested that he would defy Lucius and swallow. The fair wizard swung his wand back and forth suggestively, and tossed a gold goblet to the younger boy. Hisoka spat the mouthful of milky fluid into the cup. The wizard intercepted the goblet before it was flung in his face and held it high to one side, an amused smile meeting the rage in the boy's face. He seized a handful of bright gold hair, bent and captured Hisoka's lips in a crushing kiss. All the while, as he tasted Kyo on the smaller boy, his brilliant silver eyes were focused solely on pale blue that desperately wished that they could look elsewhere, anywhere at all.

Hisoka struggled to free himself from Lucius's grasp, trembling with shock and exertion as though he had been running flat out. "No!" he cried, his denial of both the other man's touch and the growing conviction that he had been duped breaking the word into two octaves. "You promised me! All I had to do was show you the proof that I did it -"

Lucius slipped one black gloved hand around his slender throat, closing it inexorably. As Hisoka paled and fought against the increasing pressure, the wizard leaned down and whispered,"I lied."

The weird mix of exhaustion and satiation that gripped Kyo shattered. He could see the way the dam of desperation holding the younger boy strained, and cracked, could feel Malfoy deliberately and maliciously pushing him toward that breaking point. Maybe it was because of his exhaustion rather than in spite of it, but a surge of power blazed across Kyo's skin, searing the spell-charged net. Unthinking, Lucius threw up a hand to protect his face. But the brilliant red flash of a casting raced past the staggered wizard, striking Kyo dead center in the chest. Voldemort had joined the battle, pushing the advantage firmly back in favor of the Death Eaters as Lucius's wand snapped up. "Petrificus!" he roared.

The combination of spells was complete and overwhelming pain. Through the blinding numbness of the body bind, fire turned back inward from the entangling hair. It sped along his nervous system, shorting out the gathered elemental power, grounding him through his bare feet into the circle of pale yellow marble. The floor flashed like lightning, and the bordering ring of symbols flared into writhing life. They rose in a swirling column of transparent golden light, reaching the ceiling high above and splattering across the constellations painted there. A violent whirlwind spiraled back down the shimmering column and discharging into the floor in a single deep, humming note. Silence, absolute and cold, followed.

Kyo shook his head, blinking his smarting eyes. He felt drained, and in more ways than just could be accounted for by sex. If it hadn't been for the petrification spell holding him rigidly upright, he would have been crumpled in a heap on the floor, just as Hisoka was. Tears were dripping from the younger boy's chin, but he paid them no mind, staring up at the wizard whose fingers were still tangled in his hair.

Voldemort glided over and took the goblet from his lieutenant's hand. Within the deep shadows of his hood, a red gleam sparked. "Well, Lucius, I must congratulate you. That was a delightful scene; 'The Betrayal of Friendship.' I think you have a talent for this sort of thing." Absently, he swirled the contents of the cup, glancing down at Hisoka. "And you, you played your part perfectly, using your empathy on your _friend_ as adeptly as you did. Could it be that Lucius was right? That there is a grain of truth to the so-called closeness you share among you?"

Hisoka squeezed his eyes shut, biting his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, and Kyo knew that the Dark Lord's words were true. Hisoka had used his empathy on him, had taken away his ability to choose. _You stupid git! I'd have gone along with it – I'd have LET you do whatever it took to keep you safe. And, I'd have done whatever it took, too,_ he raged silently. _I love you!_

Kyo blinked, amazed at himself. Where had that come from? But it was true. Not in the same passionate fashion that he loved Takashi - who was more like a part of his own, most essential self - and not with the fierce, protective affection that he felt toward Harry. But it was still true; he loved Hisoka. Listening to the other boy's soft, gasping cries hurt him in a place that he had never expected, somewhere in the most hidden reaches of his heart.

"No, please. . .I- I did what you asked – don't. . ." Hisoka struggled to free himself, horror and understanding warring on his flushed and grubby face. "No, it wasn't that at all, was it? You didn't care about watching me with Kyo, it was all about _that_, right from the start." He sagged as Lucius slapped him with absent-minded violence.

Amused, Voldemort glanced into the cup that he held. "How sweet. Even after you have nearly fucked your own best beloved friend, you resort to euphemisms. The word is 'semen.' And yes, it was the point all along." The humor vanished from the dark figure as if it had never been, leaving only a malevolence deeper than human. "Little fool. You know so little about the forces that you play with, the potency of something like this, freely given. I could name you a hundred spells and potions that count semen as a primary ingredient, everything from a simple lust charm to a spell that will give birth to a Substantial Servant that never grows old or tired. And yes, you gave it to me." The tall, thin figure loomed over the pale boy on the floor, and he pushed back his hood so that there would be no doubt in Hisoka's mind that he wore a horrible, lip-less travesty of a smile. "But don't worry, child. I would not use your friend's essence for something so petty. No. . .I think I shall use it to make a weapon of him. A weapon so terrible that even the wards of Hogwarts will fall before it. What do you think of that?"

"Y- you're crazy. . ." The weak, beaten whisper was barely audible.

"And _you_ are predictable. Such a cliché. Along the path to madness lies greatness, and I shall have my day. I shall destroy all the insipid, bloody-minded fools that populate this world, and remake it. . .Not that you will care, of course, since I do not intend that you be here to see it." The narrow slit mouth twisted further, and the glistening scarlet eyes flicked from the boy to the man who still gripped a handful of his hair. "Lucius, I will still want him alive for a bit. Beyond that, I do not care. Now, leave me as I have some work to do." As if the dismissal weren't enough, Voldemort flicked a negligent hand at the distant door as he turned away, opening it with a solid crash.

"My Lord," Lucius bowed gravely and rose, yanking Hisoka to his feet with him. An iron grip on the boy's upper arm made the skin turn alternately white and red, but the blond Shinigami didn't seem to feel it. His eyes, wide with terror and a dawning hopelessness, were fixed on the retreating back of the undead wizard.

" 'Soka?" Kyo risked using the boy's name but his friend refused to look up at him, resolutely turning his head away as Malfoy dragged him, stumbling, toward the opened portal. "Hisoka!"

* * *

Harry had given up on sleep a long time ago. His wandering feet brought him to the silent parts of the castle, past empty classrooms bereft of students who rightly should have filled them with bright laughter and miscast spells. But an incident had changed all that three days ago and now the entire castle was held in some kind of breathless anticipation. Everyone, from ghost to suit of armor, knew that life could not get back on track, not till two of their number were back with them again. It mattered little to any of them that the two missing was not even truly their own. The fact that the Japanese boys, now locked in some dark, Death Eater dungeon, were mere transfer students was overlooked in light of the fact that Shiozaki Kyo and Kurosaki Hisoka had sacrificed themselves to protect the school.

The boy shivered, rubbing his upper arms absently. His brief foray into vision land had caused a fire to burn brightly within him, a fire that wished with all its might to turn Voldemort into grey ashes to drift scattered by the wind. After the meeting with Takashi, Tsuzuki, Snape, Lupin and the Headmaster, Harry had been ordered firmly back to the Gryffindor tower; the summoning they were going to enact was not something he could help with, not with Harry fighting off weariness desperately. He had given in, mostly because of the tired look in Takashi's dark hazel eyes but he made a promise with himself and he made them, the _adults_, promise him one thing; that he would be following them on their inevitable rescue mission.

It didn't matter if he was only allowed to wait at the back, he had insisted. He wanted to be there and that was all that mattered. Harry knew the Headmaster hadn't approved, had wanted to outright forbid him but the challenging stare he gave wilted the order Dumbledore was about to give and the old wizard accepted defeat gracefully.

Promise extracted, Harry had only allowed himself the luxury of a few hours of sleep before he was up again and Ron, Hermione and Ginny found him after a frantic search in the Room of Requirement. They said little to him, relief crossing their faces upon finding their missing friend. They only watched for a while, as he practiced spell after spell on dummies provided by the Room. Hermione left sometime later and when she came back, the other members of the DA were behind her. They too took stances around the room and joined Harry.

But determination could only last for so long. After almost eight straight hours of practicing, Harry had finally given in to Ginny and Hermione's combined pleading for him to get some rest. And since sleeping was not something he looked forward to, with Occlumency which proved to be a fickle help indeed, he chose to wander the castle to find some solitude, taking with him his Invisibility Cloak and assuring his friends that he would stay in the upper reaches of the castle and he would keep his walk to an hour only.

Harry sighed, his hand stealing beneath his glasses to rub his sore eyes. While he knew he ought to be heading back and get some rest, he didn't want to face his Housemates' sympathetic looks and hear their whispered talk. Harry tugged the Cloak off of him, static lifting the hairs on his arms and he leaned against the doorframe of the Defense classroom, sighing softly. He watched dust motes drift lazily in the slanting light of dawn that shone through the mullioned windows across the corridor. That simple sight eased him somewhat and Harry let a soundless sigh escape his lips. His head felt too stuffed and heavy; worry coiled around his mind like a sleeping snake. Draco had yet to awaken, in too deep a shock still from the contact he had with his 'mother', as Takashi's shikigami had informed him earlier and thus, not able to help them breach the Malfoy's wards. Harry knew that time was running out and he hoped to Merlin that their summoning had achieved results.

Rolling his stiff, tensed shoulders, Harry was just about to push himself off and head back to the Tower when a sound stopped him in his tracks.

The boy wizard froze, hand automatically going to his wand. He cocked his head to the side and the sound came again. Bewildered, and a little apprehensive, he let his hand fall away from his wand and instead, turned hesitantly back to the Defense classroom. The door was ajar, the room behind it dark, unlit. He pushed slowly at the door and it swung open noiselessly. He slipped inside like a wraith and making less noise than one. Harry took a moment before his eyes adjusted and what he saw left his throat strangely dry.

A teacher – an _adult_ for god's sake ­– sitting alone in the dark, crying. An odd flutter of outrage mixed with shame squeezed Harry's chest. It was nearly obscene to think of a grown man sobbing like his heart was breaking, but at the same time, a small voice at the back of his mind whispered, _And why shouldn't he cry? It isn't as if grown-ups can't get hurt, too._

Harry realized that he had made some kind of strangled noise when Tsuzuki's head snapped up. A negligent wave of the onmyouji's hand conjured a light bright enough to see by. . .bright enough to see the wet shine of the tear tracks down his face. "Who's there?" the professor called uncertainly, and Harry had no choice but to step forward into the circle of light.

Awkwardly, he cleared his throat. "It's just me, Professor. Are you. . .er. . .okay, sir?"

"Aa," the man nodded unhappily, rubbing at his face. "It's okay." He patted the desk beside him by way of invitation, and Harry jumped up to sit.

The silence between them fast became uncomfortable, and the younger wizard found himself fidgeting. Out of the four Japanese, Tsuzuki was the one that he had spent the least time with. They had barely spoken outside of class, yet here he was, nervously stealing glances at the man while tears continued to trickle unheeded down his cheeks. It was with something approaching desperation that Harry blurted out "Why are you sitting here? Sir."

Startled, the professor glanced at him, and his normal smile wobbled at the corners of his mouth. "Do you mean 'in the darkness,' or 'in the Defense classroom?' " At Harry's perplexed nod, the smile grew. "It's because I needed to get away for a little while, and because this is where Hisoka and I- "

Harry grimaced. He could make a pretty fair guess as to what the couple had been up to in the classroom after hours."That's quite enough. I don't need the details, thank you. I get more than I could possibly want from Kyo," the Boy Who Lived said firmly, even as he felt his body began slow-death-by-acute-embarrassment. The older man laughed out loud, showing even, white teeth as a dimple appeared in his cheek.

"Maa, Harry-kun," he teased. "Then you should be used to it by now! Kyo-kun is very fond of his fun."

Harry refused to rise to the bait, settling for rolling his eyes expressively. Undeterred, he stuck to his original subject, asking abruptly, "So just what _is_ the matter, Professor?"

"Tsuzuki. Just 'Tsuzuki' is good enough." Misery drew down the corners of the man'smouth again. He braced his hands on the desk, on either side of his thighs, and stared down at his feet. They began slowly swinging to and fro as a frown grew on his face. "Do you know, you and 'Soka-chan are very much alike?"

"Huh? How?" he asked, curiously. It didn't seem possible that he had much of anything in common with the serious, reserved boy. Hisoka loved to read and study, and he. . .didn't, to be honest. Not that his schoolwork wasn't interesting, but there were just so many other things to be up and doing. Like Quidditch, which Hisoka hated. No, Hisoka was just a lot of things that Harry wasn't. They didn't really have anything in common at all. Well, aside from age, of course. He shot a nervous look at the older man through his fringe, but it didn't seem like the professor was trying to come on to him, or anything.

Tsuzuki's attention drifted back from where ever it had been as he sighed. "It is complicated, Harry-kun. You would have to know the Kurosaki. They were an ancient family." One of Tsuzuki's larger, long fingered hands cupped up, invisibly holding a wealth of history and tradition. He glanced at Harry, an eyebrow raised in silent inquiry. The boy nodded, intrigued, and the man continued, "This was the world that Hisoka was born to; powerful, and privileged."

Tsuzuki sighed, and looked down again. Slowly, he held out his other hand, cupping it as well. "But all was not happy. The Kurosaki were cursed because Ren-sama had killed the snake god, Yatonogami. The masters of the clan lived short, violent lives. Terrible things happened to them. And they could not escape, because to do so would be to unleash the god's wrath on everyone – both villagers and Kurosaki. And this was also the world that Hisoka was born to."

"Wow," Harry breathed. He felt his eyes go wide with excitement at the idea that his friend had been living a fairy tale, even if the idea of being cursed was terrifying.

"Hisoka was raised as the seventeenth heir of his clan, under expectations of honor and duty, as a samurai. They dressed him in silks, as befitting a young lord. Because, like you, he was expected to be the savior of the people around him. But at the same time, because of his power as an empath, he was shunned and hated by those same people. They kept him locked away in the cellar beneath the family's mansion in order to hide what he was. There was no one to love him, or to comfort him." He frowned sadly at his two hands, as if they were a balance, weighing the good and bad in his husband's life, then shot a piercing look at the English boy. Harry flinched at the intensity of those odd colored, sad eyes.

But he was also shocked, outraged, and more than a little ashamed to discover that the delicate blond had endured his own version of the Dursley's cupboard. And, in an odd way, it didn't surprise him; rather, it reassured him that _he_ wasn't a one-of-a-kind, a freak. _Misery loves company?_ he thought unhappily. _Is that why it doesn't bother me more than it does?_ He wrenched his attention back to the conversation at hand, to the expectantly waiting Asian."So. . .that's why the picture of his dad scared him."

Tsuzuki nodded. "Yes, although it is more. . .complicated. . .than that. One night, Hisoka slipped away from his keepers. While he was free, he saw a dark onmyouji at his rituals, and was cursed again. And that is how we met. He had agreed to be recruited, and to be assigned as my partner, because he wanted to find the one who cursed him." Suddenly restless, the Japanese slid from the desk and began pacing. He turned abruptly and met the young wizard's eyes across the dimly lit classroom. "It is ironic that the one who hurt him so, is also the one who freed him from his family, and brought the two of us together."

The intensity of Tsuzuki's gaze caused Harry to squirm restlessly again and he quickly blurted out, "You're happy now, and so is Hisoka. So it's okay. . .right?" he asked uncertainly.

Tsuzuki said nothing for long moments, merely staring at him, eyes glinting strangely in the conjured light. Harry felt his nervousness increasing but dared not to take his eyes away from his professor. He felt as though the man was trying to tell him something, something important and something that was just there for the taking, if only he could see it.

"We are happy," Tsuzuki said slowly, "And we are more than grateful for having found each other, no matter the circumstances that brought us together."

Harry reacted with instinct, intuitively hearing what the older man did not speak out loud and trepidation coated his stomach. "But now he'll have to face his past again," Harry whispered.

A dry laugh escaped the professor, startling Harry badly. He almost fell off the desk as Tsuzuki started pacing agitatedly again. The swish of the man's robes whistled through the air like a sharp knife, catching around his legs. "And for duty," Tsuzuki remarked lightly, from the far spot at the end of the classroom where he stopped, "For duty, Hisoka will have to face his past and endure. He will have to endure and most important, he will have to survive."

"He's strong," Harry insisted. He got off the desk to stand behind the professor, wanting to give the man some sort of comfort, the kind that came instinctively to Kyo and Takashi and the kind of comfort Harry wished terribly that he could learn to give. "Hisoka is strong and so is Kyo. It won't take the Aurors much longer to confirm where they are, and then we'll go bring them back. They'll both make it."

The lines of Tsuzuki's back and shoulders melted, slumping wearily in defeat. Biting his lower lip, Harry rocked back and forth with indecision before making up his mind. He raised his hand slowly, and, almost afraid, he let his palm rest on the man's broader shoulders.

"Thank you, Harry-kun," Tsuzuki whispered.

* * *

_Oh, Enma, I'm sorry!_ There was no chance that the younger boy could hear him. No possibility at all. But still, he couldn't stop the frantic cry for help and salvation, even though he knew that the Judge of the Dead would do nothing that might upset the balance between good and evil. It was enough to make him weep openly, his head hanging down until his chin bumped on his chest. He choked back a sob. _Oh, my god, my god. . .Help us. What have I done?!_

It wasn't until the sucking, draining presence of the Dark Lord overran his frantically circling thoughts that Kyo remembered where he was, and what was going on; potions, gods, alchemy. . .Voldemort's sharp nails pinched his chin, forcing his head up and bringing his face in line with the satisfied, mad glitter of the Dark Lord's eyes. Too close, too close. . .That hairless, scaly monstrosity was only a few inches away. Kyo's brain gibbered and tried to cower under a rock.

"Having a little out of body experience, are we?" His breath puffed lightly in Kyo's face, fetid and smelling of dank earth. He gave a razor sharp smile as Kyo yelped and tried to jerk back. Under the Petrificus, with nearly his entire body rigid in the spell's grasp,the gesture was futile. Absently, the reptilian man gave him a little push, watching with amusement as he swung against the pull of the charmed net of hair.

"Why don't you let Hisoka go? You don't need him any more." The words stumbled out of Kyo's mouth in a rush, disconnected from any remaining capacity for reason by the creature's presence. He tensed as best he could in anticipation of the blow that he was sure would come; the undead wizard's hand had drawn back as though he planned to slap him. But the sharp claws raked instead almost gently down Kyo's chest, skirting his nipple in favor of the faintly raised washboard of ribs.

"Hmmm." The hooded eyes had gone contemplative, their malevolent fire fixed elsewhere. "No. I think not." His attention returned, squeezing the life out of Kyo's lungs, even as the black nails abruptly dug hard, drawing blood. Kyo gasped at the pain that penetrated the spell holding him immobile. It didn't stop. It just moved by slow degrees lower, leaving a throbbing trail of sensitized tissue behind it.

"I'll make a deal. I- Y- you can have me. You said willing is more potent, right? Me, willing. Just- just let Hisoka go." He had to fight to get the words out between the agony in his side and the fixed, unblinking gaze that held him in thrall.

"No." The bored amusement flicked off like a switch being thrown. Without that humanizing mask, the thing in front of him was no longer a man, but something terrible and alien. "Why should I pay, when I can take?" His hand dropped away and he turned toward the solid block of stone that served as his work table.

He began lecturing again as though they hadn't spoken about Hisoka at all, as if the interlude with Malfoy hadn't happened. Kyo wanted to scream in frustration. "There are in actuality four steps to the process I have planned. Which is appropriate given that it is the Four Elements that I seek to command. Magic is a discipline that enjoys such symmetries in numbers. . ." The Dark Lord strode away, his distinctive, gliding walk unmistakable. He continued to speak over his shoulder as if he had no real interest in whether or not the Japanese boy paid any attention at all. Kyo suspected that in the long run he probably didn't. "The first step, which I have already completed, was to prepare the 'secret fire,' a catalyst or solvent that is used throughout the procedure. It is a water of saturnine antimony, pure and clear as fine silver. In it, I will make the _prima materia_, which is the second part of this process."

Voldemort lifted a shallow glass basin from an intricately wrought stand at the back of the table, murmuring unfamiliar words softly under his breath. It was about a third filled with liquid that glimmered with a faint light of its own, sloshing gently in the bowl. He carefully lowered it into a larger, yellow ceramic dish that was supported over an iron brazier. Once the basin was in place, a low flame flickered red around the dish. "Your essence- " The contents of the goblet was poured gently into the inner, glass bowl. Kyo flinched, watching the dark wizard wait patiently for the last drop of milky fluid to drip down. "Together with gold, as the perfect metal, representing the male principal; and silver, representing the female principal. _Conjunge__ fratrem cum sorore._" Flakes of coarse leaf, shining briefly in the firelight, were drizzled onto the surface of the water of antimony. "And, cinnabar, which you know as Mercury sulfide. . ." He reached for a jar of heavy red powder and measured out a small quantity on a knife blade. "And realgar, which is the mineral ore of arsenic. And sal ammoniac. . ." Brittle red crystals and a pallid, fibrous solid joined the mixture. A white vapor rose over the basin, settling heavily back down into its surface. Voldemort mimed a careful figure eight over his potion, his wand directing it to stir itself. "_Seminate__ aurum vestrum in terram albam foliatam_," he hissed. "_Infrigidus__."_

Darkness gathered in the air above the basin, a trembling of the air that seemed even worse than the void that followed the wizard. Kyo shook as the temperature of the room plunged. His bare legs and torso felt nothing, but each inhalation stabbed at his nose and lungs, and the corresponding exhalation was a misty cloud. The fire beneath the outer, ceramic dish turned a chilly blue violet, and frost crackled across its sides. Voldemort's free hand fumbled for a raven's feather on the table. He stroked it across the surface of the glass bowl's contents, drawing after it a thick layer of cream that he transferred to a smaller pewter dish. The iridescent black of the feather became dull in comparison to the luminous white silver that it skimmed from the bowl. Voldemort continued the motion, each time gathering less of the cream until at last the feather emerged clean. He gently laid it aside, and tapped the brazier. "_Finite Infrigidus._" The flames leapt, briefly a brilliant orange-gold, then settling back down to a dim red glow.

The remaining liquid in the basin simmered for a moment, until the wizard was satisfied that it would required no further intervention. He shot the dangling boy a malevolent smile and scooped the soft, silver white clay from the pewter dish. Kyo felt an awkward shudder flow across his frozen spine. There was something about the faintly glowing stuff that Voldemort held in his hands that tugged at the pit of his stomach, sending a queasy fit of butterflies orbiting. When the Dark Lord squeezed the lump of clay, hard, he felt a corresponding squeeze within himself, and bit off an angry yelp. It was too late; his reaction had been noted and a nasty smile grew on his captor's face.

"Did you like that?" The sibilant whisper was clearly audible in the silent room. Kyo's pale blue eyes widened in shock as Voldemort rolled the firm clay between his hands, and the exact same ghostly attention was paid to him.

"Oh, no. . ." the boy protested. "No, no. This isn't right."

The undead wizard leaned casually against the side of his work bench, kneading the clay as he watched for the minute twitches that Kyo couldn't control. It was obscene. He felt every manipulation of the white silver matter as if it were his own flesh being stroked and played with. Strangled, Kyo panted for breath, desperately cursing his traitorous body. Thankfully, Voldemort grew tired of the game once he had rolled the clay into a thick rod. He tapped it three times with his wand, silently mouthing a charm that hardened it. A silver tray of utensils waited to one side on the table. The clay rod was carefully laid into a nest of black silk and Kyo grimaced at the smooth tickling that ran over his body. Ordinarily, he loved the caress of silk, but this second hand, divorced sensation was just sick. He tried to summon a glare for the source of his discomfort.

"You seem a little disturbed." Voldemort's glittering eyes met his, shrugging off the glare without a second thought. A dry, rustling laugh followed as he searched leisurely through the jumble of equipment, finally selecting a small crystal bowl. A tiny silver ladle let him fill the bowl with shining, clear liquid from the simmering basin. With exaggerated precision, the wizard set the crystal bowl down. He drew his wand from his sleeve and flicked a levitation spell at the tray, motioning for it to follow him as he again approached Kyo. The round silver tray hovered obediently in his wake, silently trailing its master. "I had heard that you Japanese were inordinately fond of appearances. What is the expression. . .? Of 'saving face'? "

"There is not a hell of a lot of dignity in standing here with my pants around my knees, you know," Kyo remarked conversationally. It was an illusion that he was unaffected by the bizarre ritual, but he would be damned if he would admit it. The Dark Lord sauntered closer, only stopping when they were close enough to touch. Kyo had to tilt his head back to look up at the pallid face with its pale cast and smattering of scales like iridescent freckles.

"The standard counter for the _Petrificus_ is an infusion made from mandrake root, among other things. Or so the first year students at Hogwarts tend to be taught. There are, in fact, a number of counter-charms and spells that will work as well. It all depends on the strength and intent of the wizard who performed the original casting. For me, for example, as I am Lucius's master, and his will is bound to mine through the Dark Mark that he wears, it is a small matter to end the incantation -" Voldemort's emaciated fingers directed his wand in a small counter-clockwise revolution, snapping the spell even as the wand flicked to stillness. Kyo fought down a howl as hours' worth of fatigue and ruined circulation hit him all at once. The pins and needles in his legs shot directly to the stage of flaying knives, and a cramped muscle in his rump made his body arch involuntarily, thrusting tensed muscles at the ceiling. Voldemort laughed softly at the unintentionally randy movement. Kyo blushed scarlet, futilely ordering his body to stand down.

"Interesting. I had not counted on the strength of the attraction between your essence and your corporeal body. When I knead and squeeze this clay, you feel every bit of it, as well, don't you? Lucius will be most vexed to have missed such an opportunity."

The thought of Lucius, what he might think about him, and then the more disturbing thought of what the dark wizard was probably engaged in at that moment tore through Kyo's numbed mind. He did the only thing that he could think of, and snapped sarcastically back at Voldemort, "Shouldn't you be taking notes or something?"

"No." The reptilian man tilted his head to one side and regarded the boy thoughtfully. He shrugged minutely and turned away, lightly touching the objects on the tray. In addition to the silk and its strange contents, there was the tiny crystal bowl of clear oil, and a slim knife whose blade shone darkly, more like hematite than metal. "I have no wish to leave a record for posterity. Nor do I expect to encounter another Elemental Mage of your caliber any time soon. Notes would be a waste of effort." That vague, disturbing smile flitted across his face again but there was no change to his low, hissing voice. "The essence, drawn out willingly from your body, transmuted by the Elixir, and the Fire, must now be returned to you. As it was in the beginning, so shall it be in the end."

Without warning, the wizard plunged his fingers into Kyo's mouth, catching his tongue. He stood there impersonally, watching the stunned cascade of terror and outrage that crossed Kyo's expressive face. The wet slip of flesh struggled to free itself, and for a second, the boy entertained the idea of biting it off. But the moment passed and he found himself frozen into a different kind of immobility. Voldemort leaned closer, licking the tip of his imprisoned tongue with his own of black leather. Again, the touch brought searing agony and Kyo thrashed violently against the entangling bonds. Fresh blood began to drip from his elbows as the strands of hair sawed into his flesh. More blood was pouring red over Voldemort's thumb and knuckles where they gripped his tongue. The Dark Lord released him, slowly turning his wrist to watch how the trickle of blood changed course, following the dictates of gravity. He picked up the slender knife from the tray and caught the red drops on its dark blade. They slid, transparent as jewels, finally settling into a narrow groove that ran the length of the knife. Kyo's blood. Then, effortlessly, he pressed the blade's point into the thumb of his left hand, squeezing until black liquid oozed out. It swirled with the brighter red of the boy's blood, filling the grove to the overflowing. Nausea welled up in Kyo at the profane sight. The wizard ignored his gagging, intoning, "_Enyalius__ et Enyo, ades et satia scelerato, Sanguine Terra Ferrum, Aquae ferventes, Aer immundus, et per Ignem._"

'_Aer__,' that means 'air,' and 'Ignem' is 'fire,' and 'Aqua' is. . ._Hazily, Kyo tried to focus his scattering thoughts, but the sickness filling him refused to abate. The rest of the Latin whirled into a confusing muddle. With the bloody dagger, Voldemort began tracing complex symbols on the hunk of clay: a triangle perched on a cross, an egg bisected by a line, and another that looked like a tiny, abstracted demon with horns on a circle and a cross below. More, too tiny for Kyo to make out, writhed in solid rows along its length, until those nasty, clawed fingers delicately rolled it over to begin on the other side. The tickle of his nails ghosted across Kyo's flesh as well, and he screamed with outrage and disgust.

Voldemort finished the inscription and reached to wipe the knife's blade on a corner of the black silk. His face had been blank in concentration but now a predatory smirk twisted his thin mouth. He stepped up close in front of Kyo, so close that the folds of his robe brushed his chest. The boy strained back, trying to put as much distance between the creature of the damned and himself as he could, but the mocking red gleam in Voldemort's eyes told him that the effort was wasted. His wand stroked down the boy's sides, parting the ruined tee-shirt, then brushed against the jeans and shorts still tangled around his legs. "_Evanidus_," he murmured. Kyo's clothing vanished leaving behind nothing but the crust of drying blood and fluids that coated his chin, chest, and legs.

Before he could protest, an impossibly strong arm hooked beneath his right knee, lifting that leg high as the binding strands raced to accommodate, restraining him into the new position till he practically had to stand on the tiptoes of his remaining limb. Sharp nails raked across the earlier cuts that scored his ribs, burning with pain. In a gesture that was almost affectionate, the Dark Lord traced the outside swell of his raised thigh, then lightly followed the crack of his buttocks. His thin fingers encircled Kyo's erection and squeezed. "You will not thank me for this, no matter how anxious your body is for release at this moment. Think about that. Think very, very. . .hard." Then he released the boy, suddenly indifferent to his suffering. And in some ways, that indifference was even more terrifying.

The ache of straining muscles competed with consuming fear in the Japanese youth's overloaded brain. His capacity to think was dwindling by the second as panic surged up to take its place. Hisoka was gone, Takashi too far away to save him. And Harry. . .Oh, Enma, what if Harry were witnessing this degradation through his horrible visions? Please, please, let Harry be okay. No child should ever have to go through such horrific nightmares. Better that Kyo was alone, in a vast, gold and white marble room with a man who would surely figure in every nightmare that _he_ had waiting for him in the future. If he even had a future. _I'm going to die. . ._the frantic boy whimpered, his control spiraling away under the influence of the Dark Lord's proximity. _I'm going to die._

Oblivious to his captive's approaching collapse, Voldemort carefully picked up the tiny crystal bowl from his tray. He dipped the thumb that he had pierced into the faintly glowing oil and began painting it over the clay, avoiding contact with its black silk bed. The air around them – undead man and boy – vibrated with a clear, deep note like an insubstantial bell, more felt in bone and viscera than heard. The wizard's invocation resonated with that note as he lifted the white silver rod; "_Ego to linio Aqua Vitae, in odorem sauvitatis. Ecce, Virga Priapus. Ephpheta, quod est, Adaperire. Conjunctio_."

At '_Conjunctio_,' he leaned hard against Kyo, kissing him with impersonal visciousness. One hand snaked behind the boy, gripping his behind and pulling him firmly up against the bony form in black robes. The other fist, tight on the rod, positioned it between Kyo's legs, and shoved. __

A brutal ripping, intimately entwined with a pleasure so intense as to blind him roared through the boy's slender frame. It galvanized him, arching his body into so tense a bow that his joints creaked and threatened to pop. The bell's note grew until it convulsed the marble beneath his straining toes. Light burst from his skin, splintering prismatically into a flood of color that drowned the muted golds and whites of the chamber. And through it all, he felt the stretching, tearing pressure that refused to stop, opening his body in violation. Spasms of mingled pleasure and agony wrenched his muscles, cramped his legs, raced down his vertebrae until the restraints that held him snapped in a high, musical singling like a violin string. The oil on that white _thing _in Voldemort's hands burned a brilliant rose gold of agony, colder than star fire, and the rod itself that was too large for him burst through his fragile skin. He felt that penetration as though it were he, himself that was thrusting into his body, in some warped way making love to his own flesh. The feedback loop of arousal, hurt and ecstasy, giving and enduring shattered him. He crumpled to the floor, crying out as the suddenly molten pavement seared him, leaving invisible brand marks. His body twitched and arched involuntarily, straining to escape the intrusion between his buttocks, and he was screaming in helpless rage and lacerating hurt that paralyzed his brain with a narcotic sweetness. His mind was splintering with mixed searing pain and pleasure from the thing seated deep within him, the sense that he was the one fucking himself into oblivion.

Shame blindsided him at the same instant as his climax. He wrapped shaking arms around his knees, tears streaming down his face, his seed spurting onto the floor and the hem of a black robe. He wailed, bitter, crying aloud with anguish. The trembling note of the immense bell passed through him, invoking the quivering Earth, summoning Water in a rain of droplets that fell from the chamber's high ceiling. A roaring wind shattered the enormous stained glass window, and flames licked at the tapestries around the room. Kyo felt and saw it all as if it were his own body that broke and burned. In that moment, the cosmos realigned itself. Somewhere, Kyo heard Voldemort's dry laughter, rising in a smoke of delight.

* * *

**To be continued**

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**Kelly: **There you have it folks; my apologies for the late update. Please, major credit for this chapter goes to Lisa, having worked out the alchemy and torture. Heh.

Resources provided below are thanks to Lisa.

For domestic Russian nobility only the two titles _Kniaz_ and _Boyar_ were used. A **Boyar** was a member of the highest rank of the feudal Russian and Romanian aristocracy, second only to the ruling princes (Kniaz). Boyars in Russia wielded considerable power: they received extensive grants of land and, as members of the Boyars' Duma (council), were the major legislators of medieval Russia. Phzhirat' s Zhadnost'yu has given some thought to Lucius's rank when he uses this title.

http : en. wikipedia. org / wiki / Boyar

http : www . campusprogram . com / reference / en / wikipedia / n / no / nobility . html

Romans recognized three orders: patricians, equestrians and plebeians, and earlier, before the foundation of the republic, a fourth: royalty. The term "patriciate" still exists to refer to the aristocracy in most European countries. It has been turned around a bit in Italy; in Italian cities today, a "patriciate" exists which is considered to be above "mere" nobility. In this case, Phzhirat' s Zhadnost'yu uses the term to refer to the wizards who consider themselves to be of higher rank than ordinary people, i.e. the Pure Bloods.

http : www . heraldica . org / topics / odegard / titlefaq . htm

**Prayers to Lord Narasimhadeva -** Powerful mantras for protection from malevolent spirits and material desires, as well as increased devotion and a peaceful world to the Lord's half-lion incarnation.

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**Source: **stephen-knapp. com / prayerstolordnarasimhadeva . htm


	32. Chapter 32:The sands are running out

**Title: **When Death Comes a'Knocking: Book 1 – Of Revelations

**Plot Mistresses: **Shiozaki & Librarycat

**Spell Researchers: **Fellow wizards, witches & omnyouji at my Yahoo!Group

**Scene Masters: **Shiozaki and Librarycat

**Beta-d by: **Librarycat

**Warning: **Disturbing imagery, profanity, Voldemort, Lucius. And I caved in; spoilers for the _Kojiki Trilogy._

**Review replies: **Know that I cannot reply individually for time doth begrudge me the luxury. Know too, that my love knoweth no bounds for thy kind words and attention. (Yeah. . .too much _Seeress Of Kell_. . .)

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**Chapter 32**

**The sands are running out**

* * *

Kyo was burning.

His form was licked with flames that cloaked him eagerly, eating flesh and muscles like so much dried paper. Tendons shriveled and snapped, tissues blackened into crisps to float away on the wind and bone turned sooty black. Those eyes he loved so much boiled in their sockets and eyeballs with pale blue irises became nothing more than dried up bits of raisins.

But even as he was burnt alive, Kyo sat calmly on the edge of their bed as though it was just another morning and if he didn't get a move on quick, they were going to be late punching in and wouldn't Tatsumi have a few choice things to say about that? The fact that Kyo was the only thing consumed by the fire was an oddity that did not cross his mind.

His _koi _smiled, showing teeth and gums melting away to reveal the white bone beneath even as he said, "Wake up, Taka."

"But I'm already awake." Lead. He felt heavy, and leaden, despite how he sat up easily to find himself fully clothed. He had a vague, uneasy sense that he _had_ undressed before curling up in the bed that only faintly bore the scent of that most important person, his _koibito_, his Kyo.

"No, you're not," Kyo denied mildly. He held a fragile porcelain tea cup in his skeletal hands and the tea he sipped trickled through the widening holes that was his throat and dribbled over ribs that protruded from his disintegrating flesh. "You're dreaming."

"Then I don't need to wake up do I?" His breath struggled to grow quick, whistling with the effort even as his chest continued to rise and fall with the same slow, steady, mechanical rhythm. Somewhere, distant from the dreamscape, his own body writhed in sympathetic agony, burning filling him, spreading outward from a collapsed star hard brightness in his center. But here, there was only surreal calm as he drank tea from a silly English cup, its saucer balanced on his wool-clad knee. Here, his _koi_ was the one who burned, yet none of the ghastly transformations affected Kyo's demeanor. Nothing made the terror real, and for that, it was more terrible than ever. Outside in the real world away from this macabre dream, Takashi's body arched as a scream tore from it.

Kyo shook his head and clumps of hair fell from his scalp. "You have to. I'm burning," he said matter-of-factly.

"I can put out the fire." Takashi's cup settled lightly on its saucer. Distantly, there was the sound of breaking glass as his flailing hands knocked a water glass from the nightstand, and the sensation of cotton tearing as his spasming fingers wrenched at the sheets wrapped tight about his writhing form.

Kyo clucked disapprovingly, tea cup gone and his finger bones falling on to the bed with rattles and clicks, forming patterns on the bedspread that foretold the future. "Don't be silly, Taka. How can you put out the fire if you're not awake?"

A pause.

Kyo's hand, now merely a stump that was disintegrating even as he spoke, reached for his face to caress his cheek gently. The jagged ends of bones shattered from intense heat scratched his face, opening his skin and the blood that flowed wetted the serrated bones. "How do you put out a fire, beloved?"

". . .with water. . ." Exhaustion was wearing him down. His struggles diminished, his screams faded into a rasping exhalation of breath.

The smile on Kyo's face was nothing more than the macabre grin of a skull but Takashi knew Kyo was pleased with his answer. "I've always said that you're the smart one in the relationship," the skull grinned. "But you forgot one other thing that can quench a fire."

"I. . .did?" Barely quivering, he lay limply in the ruin of his bedding. A chilly, errant draft raised gooseflesh on his body.

"Aa." And the skull grinned and grinned and grinned. "You can use blood to put out a fire as well." And the skull grinned and grinned and grinned and grinned and grinned and grinned and—"But you need lots of blood to do that."

Takashi woke up with a fresh scream hoarse on his lips and marks on his cheek that bled freely, staining his soft sheets red.

* * *

The hard surface on which he lay was icy cold, burning his bare flank. It was a sharper counterpoint in the symphony of misery that spread outward from his core. Kyo bit back a sob, muffling it by biting down on his forearm where it curled beneath his cheek as a pillow. The new pain was welcome; at least it was something that he controlled and not the other way around. He sank his teeth in again, raising another angry weal even as his cries grew louder and harsher, tearing at his body.

A quick current of air brushing over his clammy skin warned him that he wasn't alone, and Kyo lashed out, landing a punch on something that went "Oof!" in surprise. A warm weight grappled with him, and thin, strong fingers locked onto his wrists, pinning him. Frantic, he threw his head up, smacking into a pointed hardness that he guessed was a chin. A sharp curse was bitten off as his assailant straddled his chest.

"Kyo! Stop! It's me – Hisoka!" Angry and oddly thick, the other boy's shout froze Kyo in mid-buck. Gasping, he fell back against the unyielding floor.

"'Soka?" The question came out in a plaintive whine. Kyo felt the weight on top of him shift irritably. It was funny how even in the dark, the blond's body language was unmistakable. Hisoka. Damn. There was something that he wanted to ask him, but his brain felt like over-cooked mush, slowly straining out the sieve of his ears. . .Yetchy image. The next time they had oatmeal for breakfast, he was going to refuse. A feverish shiver coursed down his body, and he considered asking for a blanket. Although his middle was warm where the other boy was sitting. Perhaps a little more of that would do the trick. But he couldn't reach up to pull him down for a cuddle; his arms were just about stapled to the floor. And the floor was heaving up and down like the deck of a ship. He whimpered and tried to curl up.

Hisoka was too heavy for him.

"Kyo? Come on, stay with me, Kyo." The pleading note sounded funny, as did the thickness to his voice, like he was talking around a stuffed up nose. Hisoka let go of his wrists, opting to gently slap Kyo's cheek. "Open your eyes, damn it!"

The desperate command was irresistible. But the hurt of obeying made him cry, sluggish tears seeping out from under his crusted lashes, stealing the heat from his body when they hit the air. Warily, Kyo pried open first one eye, then the other, straining to focus on the pale face that wobbled over him.

"Sweet Enma, your eyes are almost black," Hisoka whispered. Gently, he reached out and rubbed the tear track from Kyo's temple. "What did he do to you?"

"Cold. I'm cold. Hold me, 'Soka, please?" His teeth were beginning to chatter, and he felt his muscles clench with the beginning of cramps. The only part of him that was at all warm was where the younger boy's thighs rested at the bottom of his ribs. He reached up with clumsy hands, intending to catch the thin wrist, but somehow his aim was off and he missed, fingers instead grazing over Hisoka's bare chest. The blond recoiled as if that fleeting touch had been tipped with acid.

"No!" Hisoka rolled off of him, and was gone from his line of sight. Kyo blinked shakily, and tried to raise himself up. His weakened arms failed, and the back of his head struck the floor with a sickening _smack_. The floor shuddered and tilted. Or maybe it was him? He was the one sliding off the floor? He bit back an anguished howl, substituting a choked off sound that was infinitely worse. A sudden stab of pain told him moving was a bad idea. It began just below his navel and rippled outward, sending earthquake sized shocks through his nerve endings till he felt as if his entire body was being consumed by invisible fire. The stone walls swam dizzily around him and then went dark as the next involuntary wrench of the seizure cracked his head onto the pavement again.

* * *

The wind whipped her hair into a wild banner of white silk; each strand alive and flying in willful abandon, a river of pale luminescence that outshone the Milky Way in its brilliance. Her many-layered, elaborate kimono protected her from the cold, if such mortal sensation bothered her in the first place. By her side, Izanagi, her Husband, stood resolute, similarly clad in his most luxurious formal robes. His own cloak of glimmering gold hair danced behind him, sometimes tangling with hers in a way that was strangely sentient. Each held their silence, content for now to merely take in what was laid out before them like an offering.

The earth beneath them was a patchwork of light and darkness, indistinct at a height where even fierce eagles dare not ascend. The ordered constellations that tried to outshine those in the night sky were not the ones travelers eons past had romanticized into the land of snakelike dragons and smiling Buddhas.

Izanami and Izanagi, the Eastern Gods of Creation, were trespassing.

Izanami swallowed, throat strangely dry as was the hand she clasped Izanagi's with. She flexed her fingers unconsciously, threading them through her Husband's and she licked her lips. Their Father had surely foreseen this; that they would enter the Western Realm of their own free will, effectively flouting the agreement binding upon Immortals of all four Realms. That very covenant was pledged even before man learned of fire and save for one occasion, none had violated it for there was no need to.

"Beloved." Izanagi sounded hoarse, and she could detect the faintest of trembling running through his body. "There can be no turning back."

"Aa." She licked her lips again and for a brief, irrational moment, wished with all her might that she could curl up under warm blankets with a mug of hot chocolate, instead of being here, on the cusp of breaking a covenant as old as time.

Enma had always said that being around mortals for so long would rub off on any god.

Izanami wondered idly whether Izanagi was experiencing all these sudden, random moments when the craving for something as simple as hot milk or a good book almost overwhelmed him. Beside her, Izanagi snorted quietly.

"The fact that we're breaking the Covenant of Dominions is evidence enough," he said wryly in response to her unspoken thought.

Izanami smiled weakly back. "Do you think Father would accept that excuse?" she asked hopefully.

"We could always try," was his rather uncomforting answer.

Izanami winced; trust her husband to pick up Takashi's own brand of dry wit. She had to wonder then whether the urge to whap him upside the head for that most unhelpful remark was Kyo's own instinct or hers.

For Izanami and Izanagi had hated each other for countless millennia. Their Father, Enma-Daioh, had foreseen that their continued estrangement would have ended the worlds before its time. The saddest part of the whole affair had been that the two who had helped create the world and men hated each other due to lies spun by their own child, Hino, the god of fire and destruction. Warned by a Prophecy told before the beginning of Time, Enma had also anticipated the birth of two souls destined to be together. Those two, bright, ephemeral lives would have a love that could transcend the hatred of gods. Betting on the strength of that love, Enma had chained Izanami and Izanagi to those two souls and with it, Shiozaki Kyo and Matsumada Takashi became Vessels.

From lives fraught with tragedy and complications, to a death shared together and chained by the heavy yoke of a Shinigami's responsibility, Shiozaki Kyo and Matsumada Takashi had proven time and time again that their love would not bow or break. But the ultimate test came when Hino again intervened, bringing his own agenda into play and through twisted lies, promises between demons and humans and the birth of a monstrosity cloaked in the form of a daughter, Kyo and Takashi were separated and Kyo was made to forget his husband.

But the truth was finally revealed as Enma himself dealt his hand and the final confrontation came about on the legendary Island of Onokoro.

And the price the Vessels had to pay was more than their love could handle.

Kyo killed his own daughter and went insane with guilt. Takashi experienced true death when he stopped Kyo from raising Ama-no-Nuboko to destroy the world with it. Faced with sentencing the ones he had used to help heal his own children, Enma released Izanami and Izanagi from their fleshy prison and bade them to face the truth.

That heavy task done, Izanami and Izanagi were fraught with guilt; to have mortals pay for their mistakes was something the gods could not condone. Tied to Shiozaki Kyo and Matsumada Takashi in ways never before experienced between man and god, Izanami and Izanagi gave them another chance; Kyo was healed, as much as they could, and his sanity restored - though not in perfect condition - and for Takashi, they breathed new life into him.

Now restored to their rightful Immortal forms, Izanami and Izanagi both could still feel the bond they once shared with Kyo and Takashi. Never before had they felt such closeness to their Children and the deities reveled in the feeling of love, joy and contentment the couple radiated.

But all that changed upon the twisted one's daring manipulation of their Beloved. Even now, Izanami could feel the same trails of fire; bright pain that burned through her body and eating away at her flesh like a cancer.

A particularly sharp burst near her navel had her white eyes narrowed in fury. Pain, to gods, was an alien concept. What she felt was the sympathetic echoes stirred by the personal bond she shared with Kyo, her Vessel. While she may not feel his pain in its basic sense, she understood how it affected Kyo. Physical discomfort was beyond her, but she _understood_.

A hiss escaped her while her hand cupped her stomach protectively. "Impudent mortal."

"It's worsening?" Izanagi asked worriedly.

Izanami gave a tight nod. She chafed at the restrictions placed upon all Immortals; to never interfere directly in men's life and choices, to let free will mold their destiny. Because if such a rule wasn't in place, Voldemort would be roasting over an open pit of Hellfire while his innards were pulled out through his nose. Slowly.

"We've dallied long enough as it is, Husband." Izanami released his hand to spin around agitatedly, fixing him with a glare. "We either do it now or we don't."

The silence between them was fraught with words unspoken. They both knew what they were going into and the consequences they might end up paying. But the burden would be as nothing if they could save their Beloved. With one last shared look, Izanami and Izanagi prepared to enter the mortal realm fully; while they may not be able to effect an outright rescue, they could at least ensure that their Beloved would stand a better chance of winning free and surviving this night.

Steeling themselves, Izanami and Izanagi raised their hands, ready to open the invisible veil between the worlds when. . .

_"And what, pray tell, do you think you're doing?"_

Standing before them clad in his customary armor of leather and chainmail, his steed pawing the air with a derisive snort, was the Lord of the Hunting Gods: Llud.

* * *

His throat hurt. A lot. It was competing with the dull pressure of pain centered in the back of his head, and a burning inferno was located just below his belly button, with a spider web of lesser fire spreading out from it. Kyo wondered what would happen when the creeping flames hit the heaviness of his head. Would his skull explode? That might be preferable. He waited with morbid patience, but things were moving with glacial slowness. Or maybe it was time that was hobbling along on crippled legs. If it was going to kill him, he wished it would hurry up and get it over with.

"Kyo. . .?" The soft breath of sound was coming from outside his tormented head. It coaxed and teased. He knew that voice. . .had laughed and argued with it. Had cried with it. But he couldn't remember, couldn't put a face or a form, or a name with it. Blindly, he held his arms up like a sick child asking to be lifted and comforted. Just when he was beginning to think that he had imagined the invisible speaker and that he was in reality all alone and abandoned, a hesitant embrace wrapped around him and his own arms held on tightly to someone who was crying in great, gulping, wrenching sobs.

* * *

The night was really too beautiful. Miniature suns burned with cold, impersonal fire and punched the black velvet sky like diamond studs. The constellations frozen in the midst of their stories turned a blind eye to the blunders of clumsy fools below and Takashi knew then that no gods of this foreign land would be listening to his prayers tonight.

His breath frosted the air with puffs of white exhalation; his hands kept warm by black leather gloves and the rest of him clad in an overall ensemble of black topped by a knee-length leather coat ensured that he was well-prepared for this night's mission. His whole demeanor was that of ready relaxation; he could explode into efficient action at a moment's notice. Never mind that he was the only one who could tell that his hands trembled minutely and that odd, burning feeling in his guts hadn't lessened in the past hour.

"You're early."

Takashi inclined his head in greeting to the werewolf who had approached him on feet as silent as death itself. He cracked a smile at that. After all, he knew very well how quiet death could be. He stuffed his traitorous hands deep into the pockets of his coat, leaning back against the wall of Hagrid's hut. The half-giant was off in the forest, collecting Thestrals for the rescue party's use. The other members of their mission, namely Tsuzuki, Moody and McGonagall, with Flitwick to play point at the Three Broomsticks, were still inside the castle, getting last minute instructions from the Headmaster. The old wizard had chosen to stay back; the castle's wards needed him as their anchor point so McGonagall had volunteered in his place. Takashi knew well enough that the fiery Scottish witch felt some measure of blame for Kyo and Hisoka's disappearance. They were Gryffindors after all, honorary or not.

"Remus," Takashi answered neutrally.

The werewolf pursed his lips, amber eyes reflecting back the light from the lone torch stuck in a brace by Hagrid's door. Dumbledore had originally wanted to wait one more day to narrow down the location of the Malfoy's manor even further. But Takashi had shot down that idea that very morning. The same morning when he had woken up with a scream that rang throughout his room, coupled with the chills and shakes as the last vestiges of a dream involving fire, gut-wrenching pain and blood-red eyes clung stubbornly. There was no doubt in the former sensei's mind that time was not running out; it was spent and gone already. Anything they do after would be trying to stop the inevitable. So he had shown the Headmaster that he could be as stubborn as an _oni_ with a bone and the old wizard had backed down. Since then, everyone could see that Takashi was barely holding himself together, tension causing deep crow's feet to form at the corner of his eyes and bracketing his mouth. Remus had even thought of pleading with his friend to stay back; he feared that the Japanese might not hold up under the pressure but his fears proved groundless when as zero hour approached, Takashi had descended into a calm detachment that walled away the roiling emotion in his eyes and eased the signs of stress on his face.

Remus quirked a half-smile. "You look very much the seasoned Auror," he teased gently. He sidled closer, a gloved hand brushing away a dry leaf that clung to the man's broad shoulders. "Mission outfit?"

Takashi cocked his head to the side. "More or less," he murmured, eyes unfocused as he recalled the first time he had worn his 'mission outfit'. His appreciative husband had made sure he knew just how good he looked in black leather and thanks to that particular demonstration, Watari had sworn off using the storeroom beside his lab till the apocalypse.

His hand in his pocket clenched; that fond memory clashed awkwardly with that dread feeling of a premonition dream. When it came to Kyo, Takashi knew better than to disregard such feelings as an odd fancy. If he had prophesied Kyo's first death, then he could very damn well dream the certain knowledge that his _koi_ was in deep trouble.

"You never did confirm it for us what the four of you did for a living back in Japan."

Takashi blinked slowly. That line of questioning was unexpected. But seeing the curious tilt to Remus' head, the way the man smiled, a bit shy and unsure, Takashi shrugged good-naturedly and smiled back. "No, we didn't. We don't exactly have commission papers or such. Can you imagine, telling prospective employers that we work for a God of Death?"

His colleague laughed softly. "No, I guess not."

"When we took on our positions, we pretty much gave up the identities we were born with." Takashi shook out his hand, flexing his fingers experimentally. "A normal life is a sweet dream to a. . ._yamabushi._"

"All of you are so young though," Remus murmured. "Too young to sacrifice everything like that for your god."

Inwardly, Takashi wondered whether he ought to be relieved, or disgusted with himself for easily steering the conversation away from Remus's original question. Remus was a friend, after all. But he was a Shinigami first and foremost. Takashi shrugged again, fingers flexing. "No older than when you were asked to make your own sacrifice, Remus-kun."

He had startled the werewolf into shocked silence. He leaned heavily against the wooden wall, eyes drifting shut. Even without looking, he knew that Remus was eyeing him in speculation, perhaps with his intriguing amber-gold eyes narrowed slightly.

"I don't understand the four of you." Beneath the carefully chosen words, Takashi sensed the man's genuine confusion and plain bewilderment. The Western wizards' prejudice against the so-called Dark creatures had caused Remus and others like him to lead a life ostracized by society, never to be accepted for what he truly was; a man cursed with a form he did not choose, save for the few enlightened ones that could love the man for himself. "You people didn't even so much as _blink _when I told you that I'm a werewolf. And damn me if Tsuzuki doesn't try to mother me after every full moon!"

He couldn't help the low chuckle he let loose. He cracked his eyes open, pocketing his hand again. "A friend and colleague of ours transforms into a black winged lion at the drop of a hat. Believe me, we're used to it," he grinned faintly.

Remus shook his head wonderingly. "I don't understand you people," he repeated but Takashi saw the gratitude in those warm eyes. Gratitude for the easy acceptance they had shown him and had yet to retract and probably never would. Because if Remus thought he knew what being damned and ostracized was about, he had yet to experience the true displaced existence of a Shinigami. And Takashi prayed that his friend would never get to.

Takashi sighed, that one brief moment of levity gone as another sharp jab of discomfort reminded him that the sands of time was slipping inexorably away from his grasp. "Dammit," he swore softly. He raked his hands through his hair, mussing it in frustration. "I need a smoke," he grounded out between clenched teeth.

Remus blinked at him in surprise. "You smoke?"

It was Takashi's turn to blink. "Actually, no." He shook his head in consternation. "I'm losing my mind," he declared glumly. "Not to mention that Kyo's going to kill me if he knew I'm entertaining thoughts of picking up smoking as a habit."

"Then we best make sure that you won't."

Takashi and Remus spun around to face Tsuzuki who had melted out of the shadows with even less noise than Remus did earlier. Moody and McGonagall appeared by his side an instant later, similarly clad in loose, dark robes.

"Gentlemen," the Transfigurations professor said crisply. Moody said nothing, content it seemed, to keep his own counsel for now.

Takashi and Remus though, had their attention fixed upon the three who stood quietly by their Head of House's side. Harry, Ron and Hermione were also dressed appropriately for such a task, if rescue missions could have a specific dress code. Their pale faces bobbed eerily over their dark robes, blending well into the shadows thanks to chameleon spells woven into the fabric. Courtesy of Hermione, naturally.

The auburn haired Japanese eyed them, displeasure narrowing his lips into a thin line. "Harry-kun," he acknowledged tersely. "Ron, Hermione. . ."

"We've just met Ginny," Harry answered, unperturbed. "All DA members are in position and we left her a few trackers for communication in case anything happens."

Beyond a frown, Takashi left his other objections unvoiced. He asked Tsuzuki instead, the abrupt tone and dismissal at odds with his usual demeanor. "When are we leaving?" he demanded.

Tsuzuki refused to rise to the bait and instead, said calmly, "As soon as we get the Thestrals."

"And here be yer mounts, per'fessors. " Hagrid's enormous bulk almost eclipsed the bony Thestrals he led; six for Remus, Moody, McGonagall, Harry and his two friends. Tsuzuki and Takashi had declined their use earlier, stating that they would be more comfortable and faster utilizing their own gift of flight.

"Everyone. . .Takashi." Tsuzuki's eyes met theirs each in turn, looking deep inside and nodding at what he saw. When he came to his friend, Takashi almost let down the mask that hid his anguish, seeing it so clearly mirrored by the amethyst-eyed man. Tsuzuki did not need to say it but he too felt the growing distress marring the psychic bond he shared with his slight partner. "Are we ready?"

With silent nods, the wizards and witches leapt nimbly on to their mounts' backs, settling in their seats and adjusting their robes for better movement. The ill-omened horses bore them with indifferent ease, keeping their strange eyes locked on to the Shinigami. Without another word, Tsuzuki leapt into the air, Takashi following closely behind and their coats flapped like huge wings against the cloudless sky. The Thestrals neighed shrilly once and followed them.

Soon, the grounds of Hogwarts was empty save for a lone half-giant who watched the sky with a troubled look on his face, and a candle flickered in the window of a high tower.

* * *

This time when Kyo regained consciousness, it was to find himself lying on a surface that was marginally less uncomfortable than the frigid floor. His head was pillowed on something living, and a delicate touch brushed his hair from his forehead. He was unbearably tired and thirsty. The fire in his body had shifted from a living, immediate burn to a sullen glow, an acid that ate along his nerves inexorably. But it had spread, now commanding most of his body.

"Kyo? Are you awake?" asked a voice that this time his tired brain readily identified. It was Hisoka, full of worry.

"Yeah," he swallowed painfully. The word got caught sideways on its way out of his throat and resulting scrapes hurt. "Water?"

"Sure." Hands lifted his throbbing head gently and he felt Hisoka slide out from under. There was a crackling rustle and the faint padding of bare feet on stone, and then the warm presence was sitting beside him again. His hearing faded out, and the next thing he knew, he was braced against Hisoka's chest and water, icy cold, was dripping from his slack mouth onto suddenly feverish skin. "Come on. . .swallow. That's a good boy. . ." To hear the familiar voice coaxing worriedly instead of snapping made Kyo smile weakly. He drained the rest of the tin mug, ignoring the unpleasantly stale taste; it was water and that was all that he cared about.

"Thanks. . .that. . .helped. . ." he trailed off into a sleepy mumble that became an inarticulate protest when his pillow tried to slide out from behind him. After a moment's hesitation, the other boy's arms wrapped snuggly around him.

* * *

_"Kinsmen."___

__Llud's rather abrupt tone left no mystery as to how he felt at finding the two Eastern deities in his side of the world. The eternally Hunting God had slid off his restive steed, slapping the animal's flank gently with one mailed hand, quieting the rolling-eyed prancing. The stallion chomped its bit, ethereal hooves striking golden sparks from the insubstantial air it stood upon. Llud took off his helm, not that it made much difference. The only truly visible aspect of his countenance was his glowing, green-white eyes. Izanami and Izanagi knew this was due to their kins' slow disappearance from the mortal realm. Few now practiced their forefathers' religion and the lack of devotees diminished their power base. Fearing outright oblivion, the Western gods had chosen to dissolve their flesh, tying their spiritual essence only to the living to minimize the damage.

Izanagi took the lead, stepping forward yet carefully keeping some distance from Llud. He sketched a deep bow, proving that the Western's dominion was acknowledged. "Brother," Izanagi intoned respectfully. Rising from his bow, he looked at Llud straight in the eyes, refusing to show too much respect or even fear. They were equals in that both ruled their own territory yet Izanagi, Izanami and the rest of the Eastern gods had one distinct advantage over the West, one that that had caused not a small amount of jealousy from their Western kin; the Eastern deities still possessed their flesh, a byproduct from still having devotees even in this modern age. Even now, the Western gods' influence and power over their mortal realm were slowly fading.

His helm cradled in the crook of an elbow, Llud's glowing eyes narrowed, even as he inclined his head to Izanami who waited quietly by her Husband's side. _"Why are you here, Kinsmen? Why have you left yours to intrude upon ours?"_

Izanagi shook his head faintly. "We do not seek to break the Covenant, Brother. But we are here due to a matter most grievous, concerning those who hold our love and affection."

Tension flooded the Hunting God's bearing. _"Servants of Death." _His steed pawed the air nervously. _"Hel, dearest sister, was most displeased with their disobedience."_

"As they do not owe her, nor you, any loyalty," Izanagi answered sharply, forestalling Izanami's angry protest with an upraised hand. "You know of the mission they were assigned to by Father. You know of its urgency. The crux of this matter concerning their so-called disobedience is the fact that yours had sought _ours _for help. Even if it were not so, the Shinigami are our children. They belong to us. Just as Danna's are yours."

Llud struck the stallion's neck absently, quieting the animal down. _"True," _he conceded grudgingly. _"On all accounts," _he added in wry tones, and both Izanami and Izanagi felt a flare of hope; perhaps Llud would look kindly to their request? _"Then tell me, Kinsmen. Tell me why you are here on this night of foul magic? Tell me why it seems as though you are going against Father's very edict by appearing on Western soil."_

Izanagi exchanged a loaded look with Izanami. Now was the deciding time. Their answer could very well mean true death or its avoidance for Kyo, as well as the success of their mission. Because if Voldemort was left with total control over Kyo's inborn powers, not to mention Muraki's journals and the inevitable discovery of the Shinigami's identities, inter-Realm war would break out as each side strove to protect their own.

"You know of the self-styled Dark Lord, he who was once Tom Marvolo Riddle and now goes by the nameof Voldemort," Izanagi began carefully. He stopped suddenly, alarmed by Llud's hiss of displeasure but continued on when the Hunting God calmed down. "You know as well that he has taken our Shiozaki Kyo and Kurosaki Hisoka as captives, and that others of our children seek to rescue them. We seek permission as well to enter your Realm and lend them assistance. Because if we do not, failure is assured. And when that occurs, _all _of the Realms are in jeopardy."

Llud started to pace back and forth agitatedly. It was obvious that the mention of the current mortal who dared to defy the gods by striving to upset the balance between the worlds upset him. His steed nickering softly, Llud spun around to face them, his helm disappearing to leave his hands free as he jabbed a finger in their direction, demanding, _"You give them too much, these children of yours. More than any god should. What are they but mere mortals who serve our will? In the end they all die."_

Izanami hissed, shaking off Izanagi's belated restraint. "Shiozaki Kyo has mastery over the elements. Kurosaki Hisoka is a true empath. Tsuzuki Asato commands the twelve demigods and Matsumada Takashi is a Manipulator! They are not mere mortals and more than that, they are our Beloved! Kyo and Takashi were once Vessels! Think of the destruction Voldemort can sow with that much power at his disposal!"

_"And Voldemort is our problem! We will deal with him as we see fit! No Eastern kin should interfere with what is rightly our affair!"_

"A fine job you're doing of it then, aren't you?!"

By then, Izanagi had to forcibly separate Izanami and Llud and his Wife shot him a furious look which he ignored in favour of reasoning with Llud.

"Brother," he said calmly. "I mean no disrespect but you do not have the power necessary to resolve this problem. You know that."

His stark, level assurance brought Llud's tirade to a halt. The Western god's burning eyes dimmed, the spark within it barely a coal flicker in the darkness of his face. Llud himself took a step back, Izanagi mirroring his action so that they faced each other again. Izanami, while still irked with Llud's callous comments, nevertheless echoed their unspoken agreement. She took back her place by her Husband's side and restrained any impulse to gleefully point out Llud's capitulation.

_"You are right, kinsman," _Llud replied stiffly. His helm appeared again, settled in the crook of his elbow which Izanami and Izanagi took as a good sign. The Hunting God sighed wearily, rubbing a mailed hand over his featureless face. That poignantly mortal gesture tugged at something deep inside them and the Eastern deities stilled respectfully.

_"Hel would not be pleased," _he sighed. _"But these days, my sister is displeased with most everything." _

Izanami and Izanagi weren't sure whether they ought to smile so they kept quiet, Llud continuing as he stared off into the distance. _"We have obligations to this world yet little power to fulfill most of them as our responsibility dictates. Trouble on the scale of this Voldemort, unfortunately, _**is**_ outside our ability." _He broke off, blinking green-white eyes once before jamming his helm on in a decisive move.

"Brother?" Izanagi asked cautiously.

Llud pointed an imperious finger at them, ignoring Izanami's scowl. _"For the sake of the mortals we've sworn to protect, I, Llud, hereby grant you exception to the rules of the Covenant on this night till the birth of dawn, no more and no less."_

"We agree," Izanagi and Izanami murmured together in relief, bowing.

_"But—" _they froze, caught helpless with their agreement already spoken; no matter what the conditions Llud would impose, whether it was within his right to demand or not, they were now obliged to accept them, or at the very least, fulfill to the most of their abilities. _"On one condition."___

The grin they could see on his face was reflected in his merrily burning eyes. With sinking hearts, both Izanagi and Izanami noted bleakly that his amusement reminded them uncomfortably of Enma.

They were in trouble.

* * *

The third time. . .or was it the fourth.. . .was apparently the charm. When Kyo came to again, he felt better – still light-headed with pain, but better. The slow rise and fall of the surface he rested against and the sound of a steady heartbeat told him where his friend was. Hisoka felt the subtle change in the way Kyo held himself and guessed that he was awake.

"More water?" he asked. Oddly, his voice was carefully neutral. Kyo wondered why, but the thought of something to drink wiped the niggling uneasiness out of his brain.

"Please."

"Okay." Hisoka shifted him over so that the rough stone supported his back and scrabbled off a thin mattress filled with what Kyo could now identify as straw. Still only half-awake, Kyo let his attention wander over the tiny, stone walled cell. Dimly lit by a glowing patch on the distant ceiling, it was all of maybe five long paces wide by about double that long. The mattress he was sitting on lay on the floor against one short wall, and the opposite one was interrupted by an age and dirt blackened plank door. Hisoka knelt beside a wooden bucket and dipped in a dented metal cup. A clear drop hung trembling from the bottom of the mug and the smaller boy waited patiently until it dripped back into the bucket.

"How long -" Blinking, Kyo started onto the first question that popped into his head, but it skittered away when he registered the other boy's naked back. Hisoka was covered in scratches and bruises, most of them so fresh that they had yet to reach a full bloom of color against his milky white skin. He held his left arm close against his side, protecting his ribs. " 'Soka. . ." he whispered. "Did I do that to you? I remember hitting you -"

"No," the blond stiffened, eyes carefully averted. Returning to the mattress, he knelt gingerly. "Here. Drink."

"'Soka.. . .who?" Ignoring the proffered cup, Kyo reached to touch a livid mark, almost a brand that ran down the side of his friend's face, disappearing around the curve of his jaw and throat.

"Don't," Hisoka flinched back from his touch, his voice going dangerously soft.

"Was it Malfoy? I swear, I won't let that bastard -"

"You won't let him what?!" The sudden cry was nearly hysterical. "It's too late, Kyo! It's already _done_!"

"Hisoka!" Water slopped out of the cup, splattering his leg. Kyo glanced down at the glittering droplets that beaded his skin and back up. Hisoka's green eyes blazed with fury and the fragile skin around them had gone tight with his anger, making the shadows beneath them as vivid as the bruises that marred his pale body.

The blond Shinigami continued in a calmer voice. "Look, he didn't rape me, if that's what you're asking. He just likes to hit things. I'll be all right as soon as we get out of here, when we get you back to the others."

"'Just hit?' " The way he had said it made the bile rise in the back of Kyo's throat. He knew, on some intellectual level, that Hisoka had seen and endured a lot in his brief, mortal life, but it still hurt him to the marrow to hear his friend shrug off the physical injuries. Especially when it was obvious that something more serious was the matter. He didn't need to be an empath to guess that much.

"Yeah. We were interrupted. Malfoy had to go deal with the emissaries from some of Voldemort's new allies. The Order is in trouble. They've struck an alliance with renegade werewolves and I'm sure the ghouls will be joining them as well." Hisoka carefully set the cup down beside the rough bed and began methodically picking at its coarse covering. He unraveled the seam holding the back closed and tore off a strip of dingy gray cloth. "Do you think you could stand to clean yourself up a bit? I didn't want to touch you while you were unconscious."

Bemused, Kyo accepted the rag. He couldn't decide which question to ask first – about Voldemort's forces, or about Hisoka not wanting to help him clean up. He glanced down at his bare body. The deep slice the Dark Lord had given him had stopped bleeding, but had left a flaking crust that suddenly itched as it reminded him of another, less pleasant encounter with the insane wizard. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he felt the stretching, tearing pressure that refused to stop, opening his body in violation. His leg spasmed, the muscles remembering being held immobile while he balanced virtually on tip-toe. The white _thing _in Voldemort's hands was too large for him, and the oil on it burned colder than ice. His body twitched and arched involuntarily, straining to escape the intrusion between his buttocks, and he was screaming in helpless rage and lacerating hurt that paralyzed his brain with a narcotic sweetness.

"Hisoka!" he gasped. "Get it out! Get it out of me!" His mind was splintering with mixed searing pain and pleasure from the thing seated deep within him. Somewhere, but not far enough away to let distance blunt the sensation, he heard Voldemort's dry laughter.

"What?" The blond youth abandoned the rag and cup, spilling the precious water heedlessly across the floor. Through a coruscating rainbow of auras and energy, Kyo could see the confusion on Hisoka's delicate face and realized that to the other boy, it was all invisible. To him, all that had happened was Kyo's sudden twitch followed by his plea for help. Then the thrusting urgency burst past his resistant muscles, filling him as if it could continue right on out through his navel, transfixing him on a spear of ice. His screams hit a high, continuous note that rang inhumanly loud in the small room. Hisoka's hands were holding his body down as seizures wracked him. Mercifully, he passed out again.

* * *

The Thestrals were bony, fleshless creatures with a coat of silk that clung to their spare frame. But there was no denying the thrum as magic and muscle played together, leathery wings creaking, the huge span a booming thunder. The ill-omened horse Harry rode needed only the occasional flap to stay aloft, yet the ground they covered hinted that their flight was aided by more than just bat-like wings. A single stroke already brought them to the boundaries of Hogsmeade and despite the purpose of this night ride, Harry felt the thrill of hot blood pumping in his veins, the euphoria of flight canceling out the slight edge of the cold wind that the heating charm failed to completely cut off.

They were flying in a more or less orderly fashion, Takashi and Tsuzuki taking point, with Harry, Ron, Hermione and Professor McGonagall slightly behind and above, Moody and Remus covering their rear. The two Japanese looked like they belong in the air, free and weightless, unencumbered by the need for a power not their own to stay aloft and Harry felt a prickle of jealousy for that. A sudden brief flash of longing made him wonder why he never pursued the craft of Animagia and making that freedom his own. That ordinary contemplation managed to throw a hazy shroud over his dread anticipation of what condition they might find Kyo and Hisoka in so he was appropriately startled to find his Thestral suddenly in a hover, not even needing to beat its wings to stay in the air. Tsuzuki was the one who had called the halt, and the Thestrals gathered closer to him, ignoring any other commands from their own riders. Moody was peeved by that, if the fierce scowl on his face was any indication. Harry suspected it was mainly uneasiness due to the near affection the Thestrals showed to the Japanese. Harry felt the same discomfort himself.

"Why are we stopping?" the ex-Auror asked gruffly. Before they left Hogwarts, Professor McGonagall had performed a two-way communication spell, drastically reducing the need to shout over the wind to be heard.

"Kent is a bit too far to fly to, don't you think?" Tsuzuki smiled tersely. Standing casually as though it was firm, solid earth instead of insubstantial air, the Japanese exuded a kind of calm, focused purpose that did not go amiss. Hermione eyed them carefully, like Crookshanks would a spider and Harry stopped himself before he reached over to jab the inquisitive girl in the ribs. "Now that we're out of the anti-Apparition barriers of the school, I want us to. . .apparate over to at least Essex. It'll cut down our traveling time significantly."

"What you are asking of is impossible, Tsuzuki," McGonagall rebuked sharply. She pointed an imperious finger at the Gryffindors with her. "They have yet to earn their apparition license and even if they did, apparition with an animal, especially something as magically potent as a Thestral is not possible. We could be splinched!"

Tsuzuki and Takashi both blinked bemusedly at the S-word, until Ron helpfully provided them with an explanation.

"That sounds painful," Tsuzuki winced and Remus murmured an affirmative. "But you don't have to, Professor," the brunette smiled. "Takashi and I are more than able to apparate with everyone here, including the horses."

Remus's golden eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "You can do that?"

Takashi shrugged, the earlier tension now showing in the faint creases around his eyes and mouth. He was chafing at the delay and Harry could sympathize with that. "It's not apparition exactly. It'll take too long to explain," he gestured in frustration and Harry quickly chimed in.

"As long as it gets us there, who cares?" he pointed out impatiently and got a scowl from both his Head of House and the irascible Moody. "We're wasting time." Harry refused to back off.

Reminded of just who would be paying for their delay and squabble over whether or not it was possible to "jump" long distances with magical animals, something no sane wizard would do, the adults exchanged loaded looks, while the children and the Japanese waited in silent impatience for the acquiescence.

"Alright," McGonagall voiced their assent. "But if I end up with a missing hand, there'll be hell to pay, gentlemen."

Without ceremony, Tsuzuki and Takashi grabbed the hand of those nearest to them while the others did the same, forming a daisy chain. There was no wand waving or even a muttered incantation. Only the feeling of senses muffled under a layer of cloth, a slight blurring of the vision, and the rescue party disappeared from the night skies of Hogsmeade.

* * *

So cold. It was so damned cold. Had Takashi stolen all of the blankets again? He fumbled clumsily for the corner of the covers, grumpily realizing that they were well out of reach. "Damn it all," he muttered, curling up tightly. And someone had been eating crackers in bed again; it was full of sharp prickers that stabbed at his skin. Damn, he felt worse than the time that he had had the killer flu. A cold damp cloth scrubbed briefly at his face, and he petulantly shoved it away. It smelled moldy and was unpleasantly slimy. Kyo settled one arm across his eyes to block out the painfully bright light and stubbornly went back to sleep.

* * *

The fire crackled lowly, a soft and pleasing counterpoint to the stillness that marked night's hold over the world. Small, dancing flames twisted and licked the everburning logs, seeming to chuckle, secrets whispered to each other. The smile that twisted his face was more of a pleased contemplation of a good evening's work than simple enjoyment of a quiet night before a warm fire and a glass of the finest from the Malfoys' wine cellar.

Lord Voldemort had no need for the appreciation of the simpler things in life, not when power and domination of the free world lay within his grasp.

"My Lord."

The soft rustle of silk, accentuated by the steady and muffled tramp of booted feet on the carpeted floor heralded Lucius Malfoy's entrance. The pale blond made sure to come from the Dark Lord's far side, keeping in Voldemort's line of sight, head bowed submissively. He stopped before the massive, plush armchair Voldemort had ensconced himself in, dropping to one knee and kissing the pale hand with a deference he showed only to that mockery of a human.

Seating himself in a smaller armchair by Voldemort's right side, Lucius murmured a soft gratitude for the negligent permission to fill his own cut crystal goblet from the half-empty carafe on the side table. A small sip, then, "The boy's screaming has lessened in frequency, my lord."

A dry chuckle escaped his lipless mouth. Voldemort crossed his legs casually, setting down his crystal goblet to fondle the knife he kept sheathed inside the wide, tooled leather belt he wore. "Indeed," he said with a pleased smile. "The process is going far more splendidly than I anticipated."

"How long will it take for the absorption to be completed, my lord?" Lucius inquired diffidently.

"With no interruptions, a week, maybe more." The sneer he wore twisted his already ugly face. "To go faster would just kill the boy before I am able to use him, after all the trouble I went through. But enough of the brat," he dismissed the matter suddenly. "What of the werewolves?" he demanded instead.

"Phzhirat's Zhadnost'yu has committed his pack, provided that we supply him with enough Moonlight Potion. But Akela O'Meara seems recalcitrant. Though it is no great loss, my lord. With Phzhirat's pack, we have more than enough decimate any force the Ministry or Dumbledore could come up with."

Red eyes narrowed, the Dark Lord took a thoughtful sip of his wine, raking the suddenly uncomfortable man from head to toe with those merciless eyes. "Pride goes before a fall, my Lucius," he mocked and the pale man flushed, a splotchy, mottled red thanks to the scars that disfigured his once-handsome face. "We cannot afford any uncertainties, not this time when we are so close to achieving our goals. Kill O'Meara, if she refuses to join us. I want no loose ends when we take Hogwarts."

"As it pleases you, my lord," Lucius murmured.

A spark jumped out from the fireplace, the logs shifting and outside, the night sky glimmered with the cold light of indifferent stars.

* * *

Enma, but his stomach was going to chew a hole through his backbone. Had he slept through the alarm clock _again_? Kyo rubbed both hands over his grimy face, feeling less than perfect. His hair was a mess, and his mouth felt as if something had died in it. Funny, he didn't remember drinking last night. . .Had that idiot Tsuzuki gotten another bottle of amakuchi sake? The sweeter wine tended to slide down without the burn of the dryer, and maybe that was why Kyo preferred it. The sweetness let him ignore the fact that it was alcohol he was imbibing and he had a less than stellar record of drinking. Even Hisoka could drink him under the table. Last New Year's, Tsuzuki had brought over a clay jug of _tokkyu_ grade that had blind-sided the whole group of them into oblivion. Fun, but not something that Kyo wanted to do too often, given what the next morning felt like. "I will never drink anything that Tsuzuki brings over. Not ever, ever again," he vowed, wincing at the way his voice sounded in his ears.

He floundered, got his bearings, and managed to roll over onto his side. His head rang unpleasantly, and he had to stuff his guts back down to where they belonged in his hungry, hungry stomach. Damn Tsuzuki. Kyo groaned and tried to sit up. When that proved to be more than he could handle, he settled for scrapping his gummy eyes open.

Oh.

He wasn't at home, was he? Cold, blank gray walls that sweated a bit with condensation surrounded him. Which meant that they were still prisoners of the dark wizard and his nasty henchman. He blinked, turning his aching head. There was a door, and a wooden bucket. . .and a tightly huddled lump that had to be Hisoka because he was sure that he would know that pretty blond hair anyplace. The other boy was as far away as he could humanly get and still be on the thin mattress that they were lying on. Kyo cleared his throat. "'Soka? Why are you so far away?" The whine touched the other boy like a live wire, rolling him off the bed's edge and into a defensive crouch.

They stared at one another: dark, confused blue meeting green eyes that had gone the color of forest shadows.

"Kyo -" Hisoka's delicate features twisted and crumpled in. He vented a harsh sound that became a suppressed sob. "After what I did, I shouldn't be here at all!"

"'Soka!" Distressed, Kyo struggled onto his elbow and side, clenching his jaw against the tide of nausea that threatened to swamp him. He reached for the other boy and nearly fell on his face when Hisoka bolted out from under his hand.

"No! Don't touch me. I -" Frantic, the slim blond threw himself out of reach. He banged against the rough wall and slid down it, scrapping the skin from his hip and shoulder. The pain didn't seem to register as he curled up tightly, arms clutching his thigh and knee close to his thin chest, folding into the angle where the wall met the floor as if he could force himself through an invisible crack. "I was stupid. I was so scared of what Malfoy might do to you, and the effect it might have, coming on top of your nightmares about Akuma. . .I- I didn't think it through. I'm so sorry. I was so stupid!"

"What? What are you talking about?" Bewildered, Kyo stared. The cell they were in was small; even though Hisoka had retreated to the farthest corner, he wasn't much more than a couple of steps away. But that presupposed being able to stand. Kyo doubted that he would be able to find the floor with anything but his face. Still, something was seriously wrong with the boy who had been one of his best friends for over half of his existence – mortal and immortal. He began sliding down the prickly mattress one agonizing inch at a time. "Come on, Hisoka," he called. "Talk to me."

Hisoka didn't seem to hear him. His arms wrapped around his fair head, hugging himself more tightly into a knot. "I failed you. You knew what was going to happen. You told me not to give it. . .your. . .to him, and I didn't listen. . ."

Under other circumstances, Hisoka's inability to say the words might have been funny. Annoyed, Kyo took a chance and snapped back sarcastically. "Hisoka. Spit it out. Essence. Semen. Cum. Whatever. Yeah, you gave it to him when I told you not to. When the only reason I knew was because I had just spent hours listening to the Evil Overlord tell me all about his plans. If I hadn't been tied up, that by itself would have been enough to send me screaming into the night. Why do the bad guys have to tell you their plans in detail?" Kyo whined the complaint, daring Hisoka to lighten up, for Enma's sake!

"Funny you should say 'spit it out.' Because I did. And as to why they tell you, it's because they know that it hurts worse when you know what's going to happen, and you can't stop it." Hisoka was shaking so badly that Kyo's heart ached.

"But you _tried_. I wouldn't have made it without you." He deliberately let his tone go soft, trusting the gentle cadence to reach where reason couldn't.

The muffled gasp was almost laughter. "But they still hurt you!"

"'Soka." His name came out as a mild rebuke. "Don't you think I know that it wasn't easy for you, either? I know the kinds of things Muraki did to you, and I can't tell you how honored I am that you were willing to take that kind of a risk for me. So, quit beating yourself up over it and come here."

"I'm not wearing any clothes," he protested weakly.

"And neither am I. Believe me, even Taka would have a hard time getting a rise out of me the way I feel right now."

Hesitantly, the other boy crawled up next to him and carefully settled against his side. Kyo sighed and gathered him closer. "Shh. It's okay." Gradually, the tightly wound springs that were Hisoka's muscles began to relax. Kyo pressed a gentle kiss between his brow. The younger boy reminded him of the dedicated katana, far away at Hogwarts: slender steel strength. But in Hisoka's case, that blade was wrapped in a fiercely gentle nature that would do anything for someone that he loved. Snuggled together, he was finally beginning to remember what it felt like to be warm, and for the moment he was content to push aside his worries about Voldemort and what the Dark Lord had done to him. Then Hisoka's arm slid around his waist, and the twist of pain deep inside reminded him that he was going to have to do something about it, and soon.

"Hisoka, we need to get out of here," Kyo said quietly. He rubbed his cheek against the top of his friend's head, but the boy was still awake.

"I know," he mumbled. "I've been thinking about it. Malfoy made a mistake when he let me have the use of my arms. . ." The pale arm lying across Kyo's middle rose by way of illustration. The older youth winced at the grid of hair that wrapped Hisoka's forearms like fishnet stockings. Each strand had dug into his flesh and was outlined in streaks of blood. The arm flopped back down onto Kyo's midsection. "The spell is still blocking a lot of my power, but I'm pretty sure that I can break it. The idiots don't have it tied to this house -" His fingers twitched in a vague, 'out there' gesture that encompassed not only the narrow stone cell that held them, but the vaster space beyond. "And, I'm a lot stronger than I used to be. Once we're free, we teleport out and go tell Dumbledore everything."

Hope leapt in Kyo's heart, and crashed. "I can't," he whispered.

"What? But you don't even have any of the binding spell on you!" Hisoka protested.

Startled, Kyo looked down to where his arms wrapped protectively around the younger boy's slender shoulders. He was right; there were no longer any strands of hair digging into his skin, only some deeper, lingering cuts showed where they had been. But at the same time, he was just as certain that he wouldn't be able to escape.

The rustle of straw reminded him that he hadn't explained anything. He cut a sideways glance at his friend, unable to ignore the steady regard. He took a deep breath. "About what happened to me. After Malfoy took you -" He stopped short as an agonized look sped across Hisoka's pale features. "Oh, 'Soka, I'm so -"

"Don't," he answered firmly. "We've already been over this. You were telling me what happened."

"Okay," whispered Kyo. To his ears, the simple affirmative sounded thin, stripped of everything – emotion, courage, even the will to live. Hisoka's steadying hand curled up over the vulnerable junction between his throat and shoulder, offering confidence and strength through skin on skin.

"Tell me everything. From the start."

* * *

The dead calm wasn't reassuring in the least. Not a breeze stirred, not a leaf rustled in the dark forest that stretched below them. The group apparation had taken them to Essex, as Moody's magical compass had reassured them, though it seemed to do nothing for the ex-Auror's faith in the Japanese's ability. If anything, the suspicion that was already etched there carved deeper till his face looked deformed. Or at least, more deformed than it already was.

"Everybody alright?" Takashi asked tersely. With everyone's silent answers, he nodded and they immediately took off again. As they were flying over a small lake, gleaming silver in the light of the moon, Tsuzuki informed them quietly through the communication spell that after getting enough rest, or as much as they could while flying, the Japanese would teleport them again to a closer location, until the Malfoy's estate wards prevented it.

* * *

"That son of a bitch. That revolting, disgusting, _fucking_ son of a -" Hisoka's voice was a steady growl of rage and Kyo had to laugh. The smaller boy had remained tucked, absolutely silent and still against his side through his entire recitation. Hisoka had steeled himself to take it as each step of the alchemical ritual had unfolded, had even kept his peace when Kyo choked out the obscenity of being molested with something made from his own body, but now he was angry. And it was a good thing, too. Kyo didn't think he had it in him any more to endure the shaking and self-hatred that suffocated his friend.

Hisoka pushed himself up onto one elbow, glaring down at the older Shinigami. "That settles it. You're coming with me if I have to carry you. We're escaping together, and the sooner the better. And once you're safe, I'm going to thrash that evil bastard and send his soul to Hell where it belongs."

Kyo's chuckles died away and he offered a fondly crooked smile. The debilitating weakness had faded slightly; he was able to reach up and brush the silky fine hair away without risking putting a finger in those blazing green eyes. Hisoka was so angry that he forgot to flinch at the contact and an evil grin twitched at the corners of Kyo's mouth. "Hmm. . . 'righteous indignation'. . . Do you have any idea how sexy that is? I'm going to have to ask Taka for a threesome when we get back." Those eyes widened in shock and only the fact that Kyo's arm was curled around his back kept the boy from teleporting across the room again.

"Wha- ?" A furious blush flooded Hisoka's face.

Giggling, Kyo pulled him down against his chest. "Relax. I'm just joking."

"You'd better be. I swear-"

"Of course, it might take a little persuading to bring Takashi around. But you'll like him, I just know it. See, he's got this thing he does. . .the way his face goes amazed when he reaches his climax and his whole body shivers - Hey! Ow!" A bubble of happy laughter escaped Kyo's lips as Hisoka's open palm smacked the side of his head. He grabbed for and trapped the avenging hand before it could come around for another pass. A suppressed quiver surged through the slender body pressed against Kyo's side and chest and he knew that he had made Hisoka laugh as well.

"You are so dead!" the blond gasped.

"Well, okay. If having Tsuzuki there means so much to you, I guess we can ask him, too. But I draw the line at his Shikigami. I don't care how cute the ass is on that tiger, I do _not_ have a thing for fur and claws," Kyo rattled on happily. Hisoka made an interesting noise – half sputter and half suffocation – and attacked his ribs with deadly precision. It was hardly a fair fight since there was no way that Kyo could defend himself even if he hadn't been flat on his back exhausted. By the time he cried 'uncle,' he could feel a cloud of mental warmth stealing around him from the empath, as comforting as any blanket. Once his victory was assured and Hisoka collapsed with his cheek against the older boy's chest, Kyo felt confident enough to continue. "Hey. . .I meant what I said earlier."

"Which earlier?" The sleepy mumble tickled.

"About what I said about you saving my life. Thank you, love." He paused while Hisoka gave an embarrassed growl. "But I also meant it that you're going to have to go without me. I'm not strong enough to teleport, even if we do manage to get out of this dungeon. I'll never make it back to Hogwarts with you, and if you stay with me, you'll never make it, either. And someone has to go tell them what's happening."

"No." The flat denial was absolute. "I won't leave you here. And tickling is not going to change my decision so don't even start." Abruptly, he sat up cross legged, still close enough to touch knee and thigh to Kyo's hip.

"But- " He began protesting, then gave up with a weak flap of his hands. It was useless. Hioka's fine boned features had settled into his most obstinate expression, and when he got like that, not even Tsuzuki could change his mind.

"We need to tell Dumbledore and the Order that Lucius Malfoy is free of Azkaban. They still think that he's in there. And, they need to know that Lord Voldemort has formed alliances with renegade werewolves and has been speaking to the ghouls as well," he explained seriously.

Okay, so it was hopeless, but Kyo still had to give it a try. Even though the dark bottom corner of his brain was running around in circles begging Hisoka to not leave him alone with the evil Dark Lord, he still said the words. "And they'll need to know it as soon as possible, not when I'm finally able to get up off this bloody mattress. You don't need me for that. In fact, since I didn't even see the emissaries, I have no idea who he's been meeting with. Just go now, okay? The sooner they know, the better." Even though time and rest was restoring Kyo's strength, he couldn't begin to explain the feeling of urgency that gripped him. There was a faint, malevolent stain, hovering somewhere just out of sight and reach. Not close enough to eavesdrop on them, but still too close for his peace of mind. His instincts told him that it was the Dark Lord, patiently bidding his time to see if his experiment had been a success. And with each seizure, each collapse into unconsciousness, Kyo knew that whatever Voldemort was doing to him was a step closer to being completed.

"They also need to know what's been done to you. I heard some of the things Lucius said. They have plans for you, and for the powers that you command. I am _not_ the best person to tell the Order about that. You are. So, even if I could bear to leave you here to take the punishment for me escaping – which I can't – I would still need you to come with me," Hisoka argued back. Kyo met his steady, sincere eyes, and felt his reserve crumble.

"Okay." Wearily, he blew out a defeated puff of breath. "But I still need to rest at least a few more minutes. Please?"

The younger blond Shinigami ignored him, unfolding smoothly from the prickly mattress. Kyo watched him rise and grinned. In that dark corner of his brain, he supposed that he wasn't totally honest when he had said that he was just teasing about asking Hisoka to join them. Even bruised and filthy, the straight lines of his pale back, the hollow and curve of his flank and buttocks were beautiful. Too bad that Takashi was the only one that he really wanted in his arms just them, because aesthetically, Hisoka was the prettiest creature, boy _or_ girl that he could think of. But it just wasn't the same as the sensei. Kyo sighed quietly and settled for enjoying the unconscious grace of the boy's movements as he crossed to the bucket of stale water. He carried it over and sat it down next to the bed.

"I know it's nasty, but I'm worried about you getting dehydrated," Hisoka explained apologetically. He helped the older boy to sit up and slid carefully in behind him to serve as a backrest. Kyo made a face at the smell rising from the bucket, but gamely ignored the greenish tint to the water. If they escaped, he would get his healing powers back, and it wouldn't matter. If they didn't. . .he shuddered. Drinking bad water would be the least of his problems.

"I've decided you're right," he remarked lightly. "I'm escaping with you. The service in this place stinks. Speaking of which, I wonder if they intend to ever feed us. I'm starving."

Hisoka grunted noncommittally. He was engaged in carefully filling the tin cup while trying to avoid as much of the scum clinging to the surface of the water as possible. "Here." Both of his arms circled Kyo, one supporting his head and the other hand raising the cup to his lips. Obediently, he drank. When he had drained the cup, the blond set it gently beside the bucket. "I've been thinking about that, too. I think they mean to stay away until your seizures are over. Even with the dampening effect of the bindings, I can tell that there's a massive pulse of arcane energy every time. The only problem is, your outbursts are getting milder, and there's more time in between. I don't think we'll have too much longer before someone comes to check on us."

"Oh," Kyo said in a small voice. Those surging auras that had blinded him earlier, causing him to black out, and the pain in his middle, just by the seat of his second chakra. . .Somehow, it didn't surprise him to find that he was projecting again. "I guess I didn't get things under control after my, ah, nervous breakdown as I thought I did." His warm, living backrest shifted irritably.

"Baka. That's not what's causing it. It's got to be this _Quinta__ Essentia_ thing. We need to get back to the room where Lord Voldemort did the casting, and see if we can grab any of those books of his to take with us. The others will want to know how it was done." Hisoka's warm breath curled around his ear, the old, scornful insult sending a shiver through Kyo's stomach. He was feeling just a little too much of the definition of naked bone and muscle behind him, and despite his best intentions, it was distracting. But worst of all, it roused the icy spear of pain in his middle, and warned him that the thing that had violated him was still there, somewhere inside him.

Nausea surged up and his stomach clenched on the meager amount of water that he had drunk. His back arched, muscles creaking in protest, and he was mute with a white-hot explosion of searing bile. Hisoka swiftly rolled his rigid body over, and supported his head while he retched. Fresh, darker stains joined the dried splatters on the cold stone floor. Hazily, Kyo wondered if they were all his, or if some might have belonged to earlier occupants of the cell. Then the stench, half vomit and half spoiled water, hit his nose and the room spun crazily.

But he didn't black out. And that had to count for something.

He was hugged, shivering, against Hisoka's delicate form. The slighter boy's angry embrace more than made up for his lack of size – the fierceness overcoming physical weakness. Hisoka's voice was hoarse from the steady stream of curses pouring out. Tears were trickling down both their cheeks, dissolving the layered dirt and blood. Clumsily, Kyo slipped an arm around his friend's waist and hugged him back.

"When can we leave?" he whispered shakily. "I think the warded infirmary is sounding pretty good just about now."

"Up," the blond commanded, barely interrupting his flow of invective. He pushed and pulled until the dark haired boy made it first to his knees, and then to his feet. The floor seemed a long way down and Kyo's legs wanted to three different directions. Even the wall seemed insubstantial and he barely felt its rough surface scrapping the skin from his elbow, but then the stinging hurt reached his tired brain. "Ow." His petulant complaint earned him a worried glare and a repeated insult – "Baka!" - from Hisoka. The unapologetic snarl made the word sound like a love poem and Kyo giggled again as his friend wedged a shoulder under his armpit and dragged his unresisting arm around a slim neck. It took them a couple of tries and nearly falling flat on their faces to make it the few steps to the door.

"Don't fall down, damn you," Hisoka begged. He leaned the dazed Shinigami against the wall beside the door, bracing himself beside him with his free arm. To Kyo's dizzy mind, the boy's pale face with its summer green eyes was unfamiliar, veiled in a gnawing fog of confusion and dull pain that spread outward from his center. A shimmer of energy, the blended colors of their two auras, washed across his skin. He raised a trembling hand to rub his aching eyes, and stopped dead. His own hand was subtly altered, the translucent skin glowing with roses and gold. The blood pulsed just beneath its surface, shining trails of light in motion, flowing in an ancient rhythm. . .creation's dance, the Elements joining in an unending cycle. He was also painfully aware of Voldemort as a dark blight in the back of his mind. It was different from what Harry described – he didn't see what the Dark Lord saw, or even really experience his emotions. Rather, it was a feeling of powerlessness and control. Of enslavement. With each beat of his heart, it expanded, shedding layers like the rings made by a dropped stone in a pool. But each ring was weaker, losing momentum, and the power to breathe was returning, the crushing pressure diminishing.

And as the pain faded, Kyo blinked, and he was suddenly lucid again.

"Whoa. That was strange." The stones became solidly real again, each chiseled block assuming its place in the universe. Seen up close, the aged planks of the door were deeply gouged, crisscrossing scars left by the desperate hands of who knew how many prior prisoners. Dirt was ground into the wood's grain, and ugly, unmentionable stains of dirty maroon and black were mixed in. Recognizable and fondly remembered, Hisoka's eyes flicked up at him, relief like sunlight shining within them.

"Good, you're back. Hold on while I open the door," he murmured softly. Kyo nodded automatically, settling more securely into the wall's support. The intense look of concentration that stole over the delicate features tightened the skin over Hisoka's cheekbones, making the fair boy look older, much closer to his death age than deceptive mortality. Trying to ignore the motley collection of aches that throbbed just about everywhere, Kyo took a ragged breath, watching intently as Hisoka gathered enough _qi _to destroy the inner mechanism of the lock, as well as the spells that suffused the wood.

The coalescing ball of energy shone like a miniature supernova; a small, compact ball only half the size of a quaffle, glowing a brilliant gold streaked with white. The _qi _Hisoka collected in the palm of his hand swirled agitatedly; _yang_, that other aspect of life. The male to the female, the destruction to creation. Kyo found himself unconsciously tracking the minute flickers of wild energy straining to be released, seen as crackles of lightning over the surface of the energy ball.

_'Soka really is getting stronger_, he thought bemusedly, raising a grubby hand to scrub his eyes. The light hurt them, being too sensitive after the dim illumination their prison cell offered and Kyo thought about asking Hisoka to hurry up. Surely the amount he gathered would be enough to disable the door, physically and magically? He was going to get a migraine soon (oh wait, his head was already pounding) thanks to that pulsating ball of light.

_Ball of light. . .his qi. . ._

Kyo's eyes widened in realization. He stared at Hisoka's hand, curled around the gathered energy and ready to release it. _He should not be able to see Hisoka's qi. Not when he _wasn't _locked in his othersight._

He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, though not sure what, when a long, slow scrape from the _other side of the door _halted him.

Kyo and Hisoka exchanged frightened looks. Without a word, Hisoka backed away from the door, the _qi _dissolving rapidly as he lost his concentration and he dragged Kyo away from his wall support, the older boy stumbling and falling gracelessly into the younger'sembrace. Together, they fell into a heap on the dirty floor and a groan of pain wedged its way out of Kyo's abused throat. Hisoka shushed him frantically, eyes firmly fixed on the door.

Another long, deliberate scrape, like a nail drawn across the scarred surface of the wood, sounded.

Hisoka swallowed convulsively. "W-who's there?" he called out.

Silence answered him for a long moment, the tension rising by the second. Kyo, curled up on his side with Hisoka hunched protectively over him was going cross-eyed with anxiety; apparently, the damn _thing _in his body reacted with the adrenalin rush filling him and shards of ice started to poke tentative holes in his gut.

Kyo clenched his teeth and_ concentrated_. The slivers of cold, burning pain receded grudgingly.

"Boy. Is your friend lucid?"

The both of them started, exchanging confused looks. The voice that asked that question was low, harsh and rasping. Not a voice that inspired neither confidence nor trust. Hisoka asked him a silent question with the lift of his shoulders and Kyo shrugged helplessly. It was up to Hisoka whether they'd answer. They were in a lose-lose situation. He severely doubted it could get worse than this.

With a frustrated huff, one which Kyo answered with a weak grin, Hisoka answered cautiously. "Yes. Who are you?"

"None of your business, boy."

That tone was matter–of-fact but Hisoka bristled with almost instinctive annoyance. The blond _hated _reminders of his physical age. Kyo patted Hisoka's hand, the one he could reach without having to lift his own more than a few inches, desperately. What he _did _know they couldn't afford was to have Hisoka lose his head.

Taking a deep breath, Hisoka gritted out, "What do you want?"

A soft chuckle answered from the other side of the door. "Good, you still have some fight left in you. Makes escaping easier, right?"

The two boys shared an uneasy silence and again, that soft chuckle floated in the air. But the mirthless sound stopped abruptly and the rough voice asked, brusque with impatience, "Are you _able _to escape?"

"Why the hell should we tell you that?" Hisoka snapped.

They could almost _feel _the shrug their unknown visitor gave. "I don't know," the man answered indifferently."Maybe because it is in my best interest that you do escape?"

The two Shinigami blinked in surprise.

"Make no mistake," the voice resumed, "I do not intend to help you outright. My life would be forfeit if I do."

"Then what the fuck do you want?" Kyo blurted out, exhausted with the man's roundabout games. Hisoka squeezed his shoulder comfortingly but the older boy was getting desperate. Too much more time spent here and the dark blight inside him would spread till he was consumed entirely. He needed Takashi. Takashi would help him, help drive back the darkness.

"I want to talk." They both heard some shuffling, the barely distinct rustle of wool; their visitor appeared to be settling down. "The Dark Lord doesn't seem to think you'll pose much of a threat. They only have two guards posted at the entry, myself included. Seems to think you'd be too weak to try."

Kyo's breath caught in his throat. Was the man saying what he thought he was?

"Jenkin's the other guard. Nice enough lad, if you discount the fact that he became a Death Eater at the tender age of fifteen. Tea, strangely enough, tends to make him sleepy though. He's out like a light, though I made sure he doesn't _look _like he's sleeping. Can't have the poor boy flogged for not being able to hold his brew now, can we?"

Excitement rose to fever-pitch, and Kyo struggled to contain it but he was too late. The earlier wash of colors flooded his vision, a strange buzzing filling his ears as he tried to hold on to awareness. He curled into himself, clutching his knees to his chest and valiantly bit back the whimpers. Hisoka tightened his hold around his shoulders but it took him too long to regain consciousness and by that time, their visitor was winding down.

"—those journals best leave the house soon. Nothing good can come out of it. Understand?"

Hisoka murmured something that Kyo's ears failed to make out.

"Well—" more shuffling, the scrape of a boot heel against stone. "Jenkin will rouse soon. But before I go. . .a favour, if you would indulge me, my boy?"

Hisoka nodded an assent quickly, giving it voice when he remembered that the man would not be able to see it.

"The Potions Master of Hogwarts—"

"Professor Snape?" Hisoka cut in, startled.

"Tell him. . .tell him, a message from his friend. Tell him. . .the Master knows."

* * *

"We can't go any further than this, Takashi," Tsuzuki tried, with the patience of a saint, for the umpteenth time, but nothing seemed to be getting through his agitated friend.

"Fuck," Takashi said flatly, staring blindly at an innocuous spot a few feet before him. The small jumps of apparation had taken them to Kent in a fraction of the time it would normally have taken, even on Thestral-back. They had tried to go further, only to be stopped by blinding pain as they crashed into the perimeters of the Malfoy's wards. "Fuck," Takashi snarled and launched himself against the invisible barrier. Tsuzuki let out a startled oath and both he and Remus leapt after Takashi.

Too late, as the former sensei was rebounded with a shower of sparks and the angry whine of an alarm activating. They managed to catch him, enough that he landed in their arms rather than the forest floor, but at least the shock appeared to have knocked some sense into him.

"We've got company," Moody announced. His blue eye started off into the trees, seeing what the others cannot. "Sentries. Five Death Eaters, coming up fast."

"Split up," Remus ordered with uncharacteristic firmness. "Harry, go with Takashi. Tsuzuki, you take Minerva and Ron, go with Alastor. Hermione, you're with me. Stay close to the boundaries, try to mark out the circumference and use the com spell to keep in touch. Do _not _engage a fight, understood?" the last, he aimed it specifically at Takashi and Harry who both scowled but nodded anyway.

Moody held up a hand. "Five minutes."

Tsuzuki shuddered briefly, eyes blanking out briefly before awareness snapped back, hope burning fiercely. "I can feel Hisoka. The wards on him have weakened enough. Takashi?"

His friend looked sick, answering in a helpless sort of voice, "Barely. It feels wrong, distorted."

"Hold on," Tsuzuki murmured and again, the vagueness returned to his dark eyes. A tense minute, punctuated by Moody's growl of "Three," before Tsuzuki shook himself like a wet dog. "I couldn't reach Hisoka directly but from what I've sensed, they're attempting an escape. It'll be useless to try and break the barriers. I'm assuming that it doesn't stop anyone going out?" he directed it at McGonagall.

The witch shook her head. "No, anyone from the inside would not have trouble crossing the wards itself."

"Then we'll stick to Remus' plan," he shot the werewolf a tight smile. "Keep your eyes and ears open for Hisoka and Kyo. If I know the both of them, their escape will be flashy and loud. Whoever finds them first, get them the hell out of there and we'll meet back at the cave we marked out earlier. Alright?"

"One minute!" Moody hissed.

"Go!" Tsuzuki shouted.

* * *

Fear, excitement, terror, relief at achieving most of their goals, left Hisoka's hands shaky and weak. He fumbled with the leather bound journals, his sweat leaving smeared imprints on the cover. Just as their unknown benefactor had said, there were three of Muraki's journals in the locked and warded drawer, though he had despaired at first in ever cracking the spell protecting it. It was that despair that lent him a final burst of strength to cut the through the spell, leaving behind blue and white afterglows.

Now that he had the journals in hand, the adrenalin rush left him, and the boy almost fell back on his rump. He flailed wildly, managing to grab on to the edge of the desk, teetering on his feet. His raspy breathing sounded loud in his ears, profanely loud, enough it seemed, to bring their enemies down on them.

"Thank Enma," he murmured to himself and with a soft cry, he realized that he was hugging the journals to his chest. Instinctive reaction set in. He flung his hand out, the journals airborne. Realization kicked in the instant the books left his hands and he tried, futilely, to grab them back.

A pale hand, crisscrossed with red lines, snatched the books out of the air with inhumanly fast reflexes.

"Kyo," Hisoka breathed in relief.

Kyo said nothing, merely taking one of the shirts he held and ripping it apart. The older boy wound the torn cloth around the books carefully and then fashioned it into sling which he slipped over his shoulders. Hisoka gave him another grateful smile for that, this time, answered with a rather watery grin from his friend. Without warning, Kyo wavered, before sinking into a boneless heap on the floor.

Hisoka was by his side in an instant, only to have Kyo push a bundle of clothes into his hands insistently.

"Couldn't get more'n that," Kyo mumbled. He was holding himself up with an effort, his head lolling back on his neck, dark blue eyes glazing over. With a gentleness the empath hid from the world with a gruff exterior, Hisoka caught him before he could fall back on the floor. It took some juggling, but Hisoka managed to put on a shirt, buttoning it enough so that it wouldn't fall off his thin frame. He was about to prod Kyo into one as well, when the loud wailing of alarms screamed throughout the mansion.

Above it all, he heard frantic shouts, one louder than the rest.

"They've escaped! Find them! They must still be in the house!"

What little colour there was in Hisoka's face drained instantly. Swearing, voice high and tremulous, he threw aside the shirt, helpless to do nothing more than covering his friend's modesty with a cloak. Not even bothering with pants for himself, Hisoka slung a cloak over himself as well. The shirt he wore was white, and would stand out like a beacon in the night.

"C'mon, Kyo, get up," he pleaded, trying to haul the near comatose boy on to his feet. He staggered with the weight; Kyo had a good three inches on him and definitely more mass. Kyo mumbled something incomprehensible, but obediently tried to get his feet under him, knees buckling wildly.

"Dammit, Kyo!" Hisoka sobbed in terror. He could hear pounding footsteps coming their way, closer and closer. "Help me, damn you!"

The cursing got through; Kyo groaned but managed to stay on his feet, with enough presence of mind to hold on tight to Hisoka who grimaced yet bore it with bleak determination.

"In the study! Hurry!"

The door burst open with spellfire, crashing into the wall behind and leaving deep gouge marks in the plaster. But even before the echoes had started, Hisoka and Kyo had disappeared.

* * *

**To be continued**

* * *

**Kelly: **Eh, sucky kind of ending, I know. But what can I do? shrugs The flow demanded such and I am merely the muse's servant. I am _really _sorry though, for the delay. I can't believe it's been more than a month since I've updated! Ack, weekly record destroyed! But anyway, below are some information regarding the alchemy scene Voldemort had done. It was all thanks to Lisa/LibraryCat, as well as most of the Kyo/Hisoka scenes in this chapter. Oh yeah, do join the discussion at the mailing list. It's fun!

**Lisa/LibraryCat:**

Quotations and Incantations:

Conjunge fratrem cum sorore/_Conjoin brother with sister._

Seminate aurum vestrum in terram albam foliatam/_Sow Your Gold in the white foliate Earth._ (6th emblem, _Atlantan__ fugiens_)

Ego to linio Aqua Vitae/_I anoint thee with the White Oil._

In odorem sauvitatis/_For__ a savor of sweetness_

Ecce, Virga Priapus/_Behold, the Wand of Priapus._

Ephpheta, quod est, Adaperire/_Be opened._

Conjunctio/_Be joined._

Enyalius et Enyo, ades et satia scelerato Sanguine Terra Ferrum, Aquae ferventes, Aer immundus, et per Ignem/_Enyalius (war god, god of carnage) and Enyo (murderess goddess of war), be by my side and satiate Earth's Cold Steel with Blood polluted by guilt, scalding Water, foul Air, and Fire._

**Bibliography:**

_Golden Chain of Homer_, written or edited by Anton Josef Kirchweger, was first issued at Frankfurt and Leipzig in four German editions in 1723, 1728, 1738 and 1757. A Latin version was issued at Frankfurt in 1762, and further German editions followed.

In the late eighteenth century Sigismund Bacstrom made a rather poor translation of the work into English. Part of this was published in the Theosophical Society Journal 'Lucifer' in 1891. A number of manuscript copies of this translation have survived. Although the translation is more a summary than an exact translation of the original, it is an important late work on alchemy.

_Atalanta__ fugiens_ by Michael Maier (alchemical emblem book). First published in Latin in 1617. It was a most amazing book as it incorporated 50 emblems with epigrams and a discourse, but extended the concept of an emblem book by incorporating 50 pieces of music, the 'fugues' or canons. An English translation exists in the British Library MS. Sloane 3645. There is another English translation in Mellon MS. 48 at Yale in the USA.

_Lexicon alchemiæ sive dictionarium alchemisticum, cum obscuriorum verborum, et rerum Hermeticarum, tum Theophrast-Paracelsicarum phrasium, planam explicationem continens_, Frankfurt, 1612. Ruland's alchemical dictionary. This text was transcribed by John Glenn.

_The Dictionary of Alchemy: History, People, Definitions_ by Diana Fernando. Published by Vega Books, London, 2002.

**(Kelly: **Do you realise now, the wonder that is Lisa? I huggle her tight and any interloper will be met with little mercy! Mwahahaha!)


	33. Chapter 33: Sword of Damocles

**Title: **When Death Comes a'Knocking: Book 1 – Of Revelations

**Plot Mistresses: **Kelly & LibraryCat

**Spell Researchers: **Kelly & LibraryCat

**Scene Masters: **Kelly & LibraryCat

**Beta-d by: **LibraryCat

**Review Replies:**

**Allicanta: **Ah, new reader. See me being very happy. I'm very glad you liked the Trilogy and I hope this will continue to entertain as well. As for the focus of the story, I do tend to lean towards Kyo/Takashi but rest assured, more Hisoka/Tsuzuki are coming up.

**Jarjayes****, tenshiamanda, Joonie, Yanagi-sen, Tatsuken, ann, cute tenshi, Skyler K. Daemon: **How warm my heart, reading your wonderful reviews! Yes, I'm particularly fond of the angst/torture myself (hear me laughing evilly). Rest assured, there will be _more _coming up.

**L'Ananda: **Ack, I winced when I read your review. Why? Because you said you'll be reading my Trilogy. Suffice to say, I was very much a fresh fish on dry land. The _pain _of reading my old works. . . .

**WolfPilot06, hitomibishop, sol-nemesis, Sakusha-san, Yui-mag, E-san: **It's 33 chapters into the story and you guys are still with me. That's more than any fledgling writer can ask and I'm just flabbergasted, unsure of how I can properly convey the depth of my thanks for your support. Thank you.

**Angel of the Eclipse: **Your review left me speechless with happiness and damn if Lisa wasn't happy as well –grin-. Really, I don't know what to say; getting a review that acknowledges the hard work you put in and bestowing that promise of high honor to any writer. . . .tell me you're still reading, even after going through the Trilogy!

**Tatsuken****-san asked what language was the Lady Beatrice speaking in. Following is Lisa's explanation: **She would be speaking archaic Catalan. The region in southern France is called Languedoc as a contraction of "langue d'oc," the "language of the Occitan." Which is closer to Catalan and Spanish than what was spoken in Paris and the surrounding Ile de France, which evolved into French as we know it.

**PS: **I apologise for the lengthy review reply but since I've neglected it for several chapters, I felt the need to make up for it. I apologise as well for the slow update. Blame my university and exams (die exams, die!).

* * *

**Chapter 33**

**Sword of Damocles **

* * *

The journals weren't part of the plan.

Lost as his mind whirled, working out possible ramifications from the unforeseen turn in the game, Voldemort caressed the sides of the opened drawer absently. His fleshless fingers, nails long and black scarring the wood, felt the remnants of his signature in the frayed spell, now hanging like ragged silk web all over the drawer. The boy, he was sure it was the little brat, and not his precious weapon, was the one who had broken the wardings and that intrigued him. Intrigued and annoyed. What use, being the Dark Lord if a mere pup could shatter a spell of his so easily?

Yet the boy must have been desperate. He could still taste the fear lingering in the air like bitter almonds; sweeter than red wine, better than any ambrosia, on his tongue, caressing his skin as a lover would. Yes, yes, he knew fear intimately. Slept with it, made love with it, and used it as a master should. And he had witnessed firsthand how much power fear could produce. Many, many times. Never enough to do more than amuse him, but still.

"And now you run, precious pet," he murmured and Nagini hissed an affirmation which he ignored. The snake coiled lovingly around his feet, intoxicated by the all-too human emotion of terror, long forked tongue flicking lightly around her master's fingers. He caught Nagini's lower jaws in a vicious grip but the monster snake lay docile, content even. Still in the grip of her master, Nagini slithered along by his side demurely as Voldemort crossed the room to stand by the windows that took up the entire length of the study. The glazed panels overlooked the southern gardens, dominated by a towering oak tree, said to be planted by Edouard Malfoy himself, who had led his family as they fled the pursuit of ignorant fools.

"Precious pet, those journals were mine." Nagini was released but the snake arranged herself in a loose coil about her master's skeletal body, draping her blunt head over his shoulder and together, they watched the heavens split open in titanic fury.

_"Fascinating, don't you think, my dear Nagini?"_ The dry rasp of Parseltongue filled each shadow, dimmed the already faltering light.

_"Fools," _Nagini hissed lovingly, caressing Voldemort's paper-dry cheek. _"Fools trying to run from the inevitable."_

_"No matter, dear Nagini.__ Merely a glitch, and nothing more. Though,"_ Voldemort sighed, running a sharp nail finger across Nagini's lower jaw, her hissing contented, _"I had hoped to study the man's spells further. An ingenious mind, one I would have enjoyed picking over, no doubt."_

Nagini wondered idly whether her master meant that in the literal sense.

A fork of lightning, unnaturally bright, hammered the ancient oak, reducing hundreds years' worth of history to charred carbon and Voldemort smiled, amused. "Precious pet," he whispered into the night, where in the brief intervals between flashes of lightning, the darkness was shot through with varied colored lights and the occasional, faint 'boom!' of spells. "Is this your doing?" He considered it thoughtfully, hand straying to the knife he kept upon his person. "No," he decided. "It is not yours for you are too weak, aren't you, precious pet? So very weak. . .and so grateful to be escaping."

Voldemort's low laughter mingled oddly with Nagini's steady hiss and the storm redoubled in its intensity.

* * *


	34. Chapter 34: Blood & Blossoms

**Title: **When Death Comes a'Knocking: Book 1 - Of Revelations

**Plot Mistresses: **Kelly and Lisa

**Spell Researchers: **Kelly, Lisa & the talented, too-kind people of the Yahoo!Group, shadowsofthefox

**Warning: **Graphic, horrific descriptions. And an almost-lemon.

**Scene Master:**Kelly and Lisa

* * *

**Chapter 34**

**Blood & Blossoms**

* * *

That wave of pure force ripped through the forest, a hurricane of green-streaked light and sound that bent even the greatest trees, and tore the weak and old from their moorings in the trembling earth. Takashi, Remus, and Tsuzuki, the three of them in the lead of the chase, took the brunt of the hammer's blow. With Seeker-trained reflexes, Harry yelped and flung himself to the side, out of the way of the airborne werewolf.

He tumbled headlong into the embrace of a gooseberry bush, its spines scratching his cheek as the last, autumn-withered fruit showered to the ground beneath. The small wizard floundered, pain lancing through his shoulder as the spindly branches gave way, dumping him to the ground. He shook his head, desperate to clear the shrilling buzz from his ears. Hearing was returning as the afterimages blurring his eyes with tears faded, but he couldn't wait. Harry shouted for his friends.

A sob turned to a curse directed him toward Ron, similarly hung up in the shrubbery nearby. A bright red gash angled from the teen's chin to his temple, mixing with the dirt on his face to form a sickly mud. Staggering, Harry reached for the skirt of his friend's robe to unhook it. The stunned redhead sagged into his arms. When his full weight hit, the pair of them tumbled into the dirt.

Ron's weight was too much, especiallywhen the redhead was a dead load, a heaviness digging uncomfortably into a bruised rib he was only just now aware of. "Ron, gerroff," Harry moaned and pushed his friend off when the boy proved too slow. Harry took a moment to just lie there and breathe. _Breathing is good_, he decided with a certain dazed conviction. Breathing was imperative even. Another soft moan caught his ears and Harry struggled to his knees, fighting the dizziness that assaulted. When his eyes cleared, he was greeted with the wreckage that was the rescue party.

McGonagall had been socked and flattened by Moody; curses poured from both the fiery Scottish witch and the old wizard.Hermione was pulling broken twigs out of her hair, looking decidedly bemused about the whole thing but Harry dismissed all of them as he took in the still figures of Takashi, Tsuzuki and Remus. Crawling, paying no attention to the sharp jabs of stones, twigs and the occasional pinecone, Harry resolutely refused to acknowledge how pale Takashi was, how Remus' right arm was bent at a weird angle beneath him and how Tsuzuki's eyes were half-lidded, staring at nothing.

He reached Remus first and trembling badly, even as he ignored that little voice chanting frantically inside his head that _they're dead, they're dead oh Merlin they're dead! _he laid two fingers beside the werewolf's neck. For a minute there, he felt nothing and panic tried to drown him, until the steady pulse beneath the skin finally got through to him. Harry hung his head, almost dizzy in relief.

"You'll be okay," he told the still unconscious werewolf shakily. He fumbled for his wand, almost dropped it, and quickly cast an _enervate _and a _ferula_. The sickening snap of a broken bone wrenched into place and bandaged with magically conjured splints, on top of an _enervate _shocked the werewolf awake. With Remus stirring, groaning fitfully, he stumbled to Takashi's side and this time, the voice of panic in his head was shrieking.

Torn between wanting to assure himself that Takashi was just fine, yet not daring to for fear of feeling the cold clamminess of death, Harry wavered indecisively until the decision was taken out of his hand. A shuddering gasp, a cough and Takashi sat up so fast that Harry fell back on his rump with a yelp of surprise.

"Takashi!" Harry gasped, hand clutching his chest in relief.

Takashi's hazel green eyes were wild around the edges. "Harry-kun," he rasped. The professor drew his knees up, head hanging between them. "Enma, my head hurts," he moaned.

A rather goofy grin twisted Harry's lips and he patted the older man's back affectionately. "You'll be okay," he said vaguely. "Yeah, okay, you'll be fine. Have to check on Tsuzuki now. . ."

But Tsuzuki was already on his knees then, dry heaving into a pile of shriveled leaves. Harry felt the need to do something, anything, for the professor, so he decided to give the man's back a reassuring pat as well. It always helped him when he felt the need to puke his guts out so it should help Tsuzuki. . .

That voice that was now telling him he might be in shock himself, with how much sense he was currently making, was determinedly shoved to the side.

"Hisoka," Tsuzuki gasped, a shudder wracking his long, crouched frame. "That was Hisoka's signature. Something happened to him!"

"It'll be okay," Harry repeated stupidly. "You'll see. I'll go check on him if you like."

Before anyone could think about following him, Harry had reached the spot the light was last seen at, before that magical equivalent of a miniature atomic bomb had swept them off their feet. The boy paid no heed to McGonagall's croak to _Wait, Harry! _A dried, thorny bush was in his way and fell victim to an _annullo _dissolving into a pile of feathery dust that flew away with the little wind that was left, revealing what lay on its other side.

He ran his eyes around the clearing before him stupidly, unable to make sense of the sight that greeted his eyes. The small hollow space, roughly circled by a series of rocky outcroppings, might have been a crater on the moon; it was so devoid of living things. Not a twig bearing leaves remained, not a stem of grass, or a weed showed green against the blasted earth. All of it, every last bit, was seared to the gray shades of ash.

And dotting the lifeless landscape like a gardener's ornaments were lumps of black that were unmistakably human.

His booted feet scuffed the grey dirt that was once grass, stirring clouds of dust and lending a surreal air to the already surreal picture of utter destruction, as his mind began to register color in the scene. Here was a torn arm with blood still flowing sluggishly. The hand had a delicate gold ring with a crest. A woman's hand. He jerked his foot away, almost throwing himself to the side only to find a wide-eyed corpse staring at the night sky above that by some miracle, was now clear.

He was a drunken puppet, tugged and pulled jerkily this way and that as he tried to avoid stepping on bodies, dismembered limbs and spilled entrails. It was a mad dance through a grey canvas of monochrome shades splattered with dark blood. Harry could not hear the others behind him, couldn't hear their dry heaves or wordless cries of horror and disgust. He could only hear the pounding of his heart, so loud and frantic, in his ears, feel his own blood rushing thick, hot and fast in his veins, unlike these poor bodies which were human and _breathing _once.

Harry wavered indecisively, practically quivered with the uncertainty of not knowing where to step, or where to look, for each direction brought only more dead bodies, more torn limbs and more blood. Merlin, who knew the human body could hold _so much blood? _

"Kyo," that name forced itself past his lips and his hand tightened unconsciously around his wand. Where was Kyo, with his irrepressible smile and Hisoka, wearing that ever-present frown between eyes so much darker than his own? Were they among the dead? Should he start looking for a hand that was pale, fingers long and callused through practice with the sword?

Someone rushed past him, almost knocking him over and that jolted the boy out of his stupor. It was Tsuzuki, heading unerringly to a formation of white rock splattered with something dark like tasteless graffiti _do wizards have graffiti? _to crouch before another indistinct pile of black, notably smaller than the others. There was another lump in black cloth behind them, to which Takashi hurried, and the glad cry that escaped the professor's lips prompted Harry into action.

He hurried, somewhat jerkily, legs refusing to work properly, to Tsuzuki's side. A vague thought insisted that he shouldn't bother Takashi for now. Should let the man look over his mate before he joined them and make sure for himself that this Dante's ordeal that was supposed to be a rescue mission was finally over. But neither could he stop himself from ensuring that this slight form of glimmering white edged in black and red was real as well.

Dropping to his knees, grey fog stirring, Harry reached out to touch a pale hand that fell out of the desperate embrace which Tsuzuki had enfolded the blond boy in.

He touched skin, crisscrossed with a grid of darker lines, and heard the hazy shout of "Harry! No! Don't touch—" and he was drowning under petals of cherry blossoms edged in scarlet underneath a crimson moon.

* * *

_negawaku__ wa_

_hana__ no shita nite_

_haru__ shinan_

_sono__ kisaragi no_

_mochizuki__ no koro_

Let it be this way:

Under the cherry blossoms,

A spring death,

At that second month's midpoint

When the moon is full.

* * *

_The air was filled with petals, a fragrant snow that made him want to cower in fear. Their touch, barest kisses of feather light satin, warm as spring rain. . . or the falling drops of fresh blood._

_Hisoka hated cherry blossoms._

_Under the scent of sakura was the harsh, metallic smell of old iron and corroded copper, a fouler incense in counterpoint to the sweetness of the flowers. He twisted within the growing storm, unable to orient himself, lacking all solid references. Icy wind swirled the petals into a tightening cocoon, banishing any semblance to spring. Which was perhaps as it should be, for so changeable a season, but the biting cold also warned Hisoka that he was not within the confines of Meifu. _

_But he had no idea where that left him._

_Close on the heels of sight and smell, and the tearing bite of that spring turned back to winter, came other sensations. And chief among them, pain._

_"Hisoka!"__ A frantic scream beat like wings, scattering the blossoms, giving the storm direction. Fresh pain seared through him, centered below his waist, in a part of his body that he refused to think about, because thinking had weight and substance in this place._

_He would not give it power over him._

_"Hisoka?"__ The cry was lost, and despairing, but closer. He recognized the voice. Bent nearly double, the slender blond staggered to his feet, ignoring the sting of ice on his bare skin, ignoring how the razor-edged petals slit that fragile covering and became scarlet instead of white. A torn and bloodied robe in that pale jade-green that he had once worn constantly (was it any wonder that he now preferred orange?) was caught in the crook of one elbow, and Hisoka clumsily tried to untwist it, to cover his nakedness. The billows of sakura, white and red were dissipating, and he didn't want the one who approached to see him like that._

_He wished that he had never been born._

* * *

Even someone used to the seemingly effortless miracles of the wizarding world would have found the sudden transition to a blizzard unnerving. Raised a Muggle, battered by fatigue, shivering, bewildered. . .The Boy Who Lived hugged his filthy black robes around him, and didn't even attempt to figure it out.

"H- Hisoka?" he called again. The other boy's name came out in a confused sob, and Harry wiped futilely at his runny nose. Cold. . .so cold. He didn't understand. Hisoka had been _right there_, hadn't he? How could he have landed in a snow storm?

_"Harry! No! Don't touch--"_

Buffeted by the raging gale, Harry whimpered. Tsuzuki. . .Tsuzuki had been trying to warn him, and he had screwed up. The cutting wind was flaying the skin off of Harry's cheeks, freezing the wetness on them into knives. The boy staggered, betrayed on the formless surface beneath his feet by his own exhausted clumsiness, so that he had to lock his knees just to remain erect, his fists clutched helplessly inside the sleeves of his robe. _Please, _Harry begged silently, _God.__ . .Merlin. . .whoever. . .if you're listening. This isn't about me. . .just let me do something right, just this once_. The universe didn't have to make sense, if it would just let him find his friends. . .

If it would give him a chance to not let them down. . .again.

There was no answer, not – bitterly – that he had really expected one. Exhausted, defeated, the young wizard huddled into his robes and tried to simply endure. But then a momentarily warm breeze caressed his cheek, and for a second, the icy flakes transformed into delicate petals. Startled, Harry blinked back tears, and felt a quiver of hope deep inside.

Miraculously, the blizzard was abating, becoming less a solid white-out as the snow was whipped into streamers and billows instead, allowing stretches of open air that almost seemed more solid than the flakes. Harry blinked, and blinked again, and rubbed his streaming eyes. No, he wasn't hallucinating; there was the vague outline of something not made of snow and frost, of someone else in the endless, white realm. Surprised by the sudden surge of hope that flared like sunlight in the hollow beneath his ribs, the boy broke into a stumbling run.

The teasing curtains of flakes and petals parted again, offering another glimpse of a human form. This time, Harry could see that it was patterned over in dark designs, glaringly out of place in the colorless dreamscape, but then it was lost again from view. Harry put on a burst of speed.

Could it have been Hisoka? The figure the English boy had caught sight of was terribly frail and thin, even more so than the delicate blond. Yet, it seemed most likely to be the studious teenager, even if whoever it was hadn't responded to his shouts of the boy's name. But. . .what if it wasn't? Suddenly frightened, Harry clutched at his wand inside his robe's sleeve.

What if it was a Death Eater?

Could he cast that spell again, and take another life? Nausea flooded his mouth, and The Boy Who Lived became the boy who seriously thought about being very, very sick. The last think he wanted was to see that nightmarish, gray moonscape of splattered blood, and so for an instant, he was there, staring at brilliant scarlet that spattered over his hands and face. Harry gulped, and space reoriented itself again, becoming drifting flights of fragrant white blossoms that finally revealed his companion in that strange place.

Except. . .the scarlet wasn't all in his imagination.

The dark patterns that Harry had glimpsed from a distance weren't painted on, but carved into childishly thin shoulders, down the narrow back, and over the planes of lean buttocks. They wept tears of fresh crimson, trickling down to drip from the point of an elbow, or to run unheeded down the curve of a leg's calf. The figure stood, back resolutely turned to Harry and honey-dark head bowed, as if he weren't even there.

The British wizard slowed. Stopped. "Hisoka?" Shaken, Harry's voice came out in a barely-there whisper. The silent boy flinched at the name, and the English wizard was finally sure; it _was_ Hisoka.

Relieved, Harry circled around the Japanese youth, anxious to see his face, to see how badly his Asian friend might be hurt. But Hisoka turned his head as well, determined to shut him out by gesture as well as through tightly closed eyes.

The horrible, bloody marks even extended down the blond boy's front, all the way to his thin ankles.

That wasn't right, Harry thought, frowning. The small body that Tsuzuki had cradled with such care had been filthy and splattered in gore, but hadn't suffered anything approaching this level of trauma. These wounds, covering nearly every inch of Hisoka's pale form as they did, were something different entirely. Now that he really considered what he was looking at, Harry found that he could sense currents of twisted magic, flowing in complex, knotted streams that mimicked what his eyes reported.

Curse marks.

It felt like it had been years ago that the dark haired boy had sat beside his professor in the empty classroom, listening to a quiet, sorrow-laden voice telling of another's harsh childhood, of a little blond child that had been equally hated by his relatives and who had been cursed by lineage and events out of his control, not once, but repeatedly. Hisoka's life. And mindful of that, Harry kept his tone gentle, "Hey. . .You're hurt. What happened?" Respectful of the too-fresh cuts, Harry reached out one dirty hand, intending to stroke the fine hair. It worked on Kyo; maybe Hisoka would like it, too. But the other youth jerked back, wobbling with exhaustion.

"Don't touch me-- !" The tonelessly low voice was sliding up into hysteria.

Harry snatched back his fingers, hearing Tsuzuki's echoing _Harry! No! Don't touch- _in his head.

Then he stared, green eyes finally meeting green. This _was_ Hisoka, but an impossibly young one, only twelve, or at most thirteen, with a trembling mouth that hadn't yet learned how to hold back the overwhelming emotions, and a soft jaw that couldn't quite manage the determined, mulish set that Harry had gotten accustomed to seeing. It was weird to suddenly find that _he_, Harry Potter, was the more grown-up of the two of them. He hadn't realized just how much he had come to rely on an unflappable, in-control Hisoka. The world felt shakier, knowing that he couldn't depend on the other boy's courage and will-power to protect him.

This place, this dead, dull realm couldn't be a part of the world of the living. Harry's heart lurched in his chest, then began thumping wildly. Had he, somehow, followed Hisoka into Purgatory, or some strange limbo outside time? If he looked hard enough, would he find his parents' spirits here… or Sirius's?

"I'm _unclean,_" the trembling voice pleaded. "An empath. A Kurosaki. And that- that _pervert's_ plaything. I can't go back. I can't face Tsuzuki. Not _now_."

The words sent a chill down Harry's spine. What had Voldemort _done_ to his friend? _Block that thought. Don't think about it. . ._Instead, the English boy offered practicality; "Why not? Tsuzuki loves you. He doesn't care about any of that rot." He shifted to the side, intent on blocking the youngster's escape, and also determined to see into that anguished face. It was surreal to be faced with such a little child, when he had gotten so accustomed to the sense of age that came with Hisoka's steel backbone.

"Because I _killed_ them!" Hisoka cried in desperation. A licking flame of primal magic spun up around him, and instinctively, Harry flinched, his own revulsion filling him. Yes, he knew exactly what the fragile blond meant, having used his own innate magic to slay another human. He would have turned away, hidden the damning knowledge, but the green eyes fixed on his were dilated, nearly drowning-black with reflected horror and memory, and they refused to let The Boy Who Lived go, just as the haunted voice continued, "I killed them, and I _felt_ each one die. . ."

_TerrorhorrorpainohEnmastopthem_

_Desperation.__ He couldn't allow the Death Eaters to reach Kyo, yet he was so exhausted. . .without the shelter of Kyo's mind, his own would be splintered and he would fail. Enma, so tired. Calling the spiritual aspect of the dedicated sword took nearly the last of his strength, but he couldn't fall without trying, one last time. The hilt gripped in his hands became solid, even if the blade lacked the solid weight of the real thing._

_Flash of green. Killing curse? Shift. Block. Blade leaping up into position. Emerald fire meeting the pure, gold-tinted white of the sword. _

_Shattering._

_And for one single, crystalline moment, he knew that everything was ended, that Death was a yawning pit at his back. _

_It would be so easy to let go, to never have to face the trials of the living, ever again. To never let down those who were depending on him._

_NO!!_

Gasping Harry wrenched himself back from the edge of the precipice. _I'm so sorry, Hisoka-! No one should ever have to go through that._ His empty hands clenched, again feeling the hilt of a sword like memory, of standing over Ginny's fallen body in the depths of Hogwarts, and he repeated silently, fiercely, _No one._

_Not you, Hisoka. Not me._

_I'm sorry._

There was no answer, no words of comfort that he could offer to make that darkness retreat, not when its twin had taken up lodging in his own heart. Belatedly, Harry realized that the seeming ease with which the restrained young empath had fought had been an illusion; that each blow in the battle had been felt twice, once by its intended target, and once by the one who dealt it. By Hisoka. With his shields unraveled, the confidence and resolve that had characterized the Asian teenager were revealed to be only as strong as his willpower, nothing more, and that will had been shattered.

Strong Hisoka. Harry could see flashes of wry, understated humor, the way a subtle smile would quirk the other boy's lips when he was delivering the verbal coup de grace with typical, deadpan seriousness. He remembered the way somber green eyes lit with rare pleasure when Hermione would open her mouth, take a deep breath, and plunge headlong into an argument – an argument that Hisoka had laid as a trap for the unsuspecting girl. And then there was the affection – deep and abiding for Tsuzuki, as often as not exasperated for Kyo. . .and there, even for Harry himself.

He wanted Hisoka back the way he was _supposed_ to be.

_Please.__ . .I'm not asking for myself. For once, let me help someone else, let me be there._ Green eyes fluttered closed behind their thick, cheap lenses as the almost-prayer surged through his mind. A gentle warmth led him to a hidden reserve of calm, and a wondering smile stole across the boy's thin features.

"Let's go back." Harry said gently. "Tsuzuki's waiting for you."

"No. . .I can't." A tremor swept through the bare shoulders, subtly wrong as the curse marks seemed to take on an independent life due to the movement.

This time, the young wizard ignored the instinctive recoil, stepping up close to the other teen. Hisoka's head was lowered, gaze fixed on the ground, and tears overflowed the wide, leaf-green eyes and dripped from the curve of his cheeks and the point of his jaw. Firmly, the English boy said, "No. You're wrong. You can. Tsuzuki needs you. We all do. And, most important of all, we _want _you to come back." Whether it was truly a dreamscape, or not, was unimportant. Belief made things real, and just then, Harry believed. He shrugged off his outer robe and wrapped first it, then his arms around the other boy's small frame.

"_We_ can do it, Hisoka. You'll see. Everything will be all right." Harry closed his eyes, and _reached_ for the beacon that had burned steadily at the back of his mind since the moment he had stumbled into the bitter storm.

Finally, Hisoka reached with him.

* * *

The scorched scent of cold ashes and the nauseating, unsettling iron-rust of stale blood competed for ascendancy. It was bloody peculiar that the first of Harry's senses to return was that of smell, yet in a way, he was grateful to be spared sight for the moment as it dawned on him that he had returned to the seared desert of the little clearing.

The charming sound of someone retching their guts out told the boy that hearing was the second sense to come back. That it was _his_ guts became apparent when the third sense of touch joined the growing legion. Merlin, but he hated being sick.

"'Soka. . ." Tsuzuki's soft, heart-broken voice forced Harry's eyes open. Braced on hands and knees, the young wizard was surprised to see Hisoka on his feet, and faced off with the professor at a distance of maybe three or four paces. The dirty figure kept his gaze firmly on the ground, letting hair that the dying autumn light turned to liquid flame conceal his eyes. Something in the way Tsuzuki spoke his name sent a tremor through the boy's slight body, and he gathered his torn cloak more tightly around him.

"Shut up." The low, ragged whisper hardly sounded like Hisoka's voice. The rescuers stared as the older man flinched, hands fisted into the fabric of his school robes to keep them still. Another wave of shaking sped across the younger of the Japanese. Then a harsh cry burst out of him and he abruptly held his arms up like a child asking to be picked up and comforted. His cloak fell back revealing an oversized shirt and the bloody scrapes that covered his bare legs, and the crusted grid of lines on his arms. Tsuzuki crossed the space between them in a single stride, gathering up the small form with one arm beneath his knees and the other around his back. Hisoka buried his face in his husband's open robes, clutching the tall man around his neck. Tsuzuki stared around the stunned circle wildly.

"Excuse me," he choked out. "I think we need to leave now." The soft 'pop' of displaced air as he Disapparated echoed through the forest long after they were gone.

* * *

_Where am I?_

The question was rootless, adrift in the darkness of a void with him, bodiless and formless, spinning through the empty universe. He reached out with a hand he could not see to a friend who was gone. A puzzled frown creased his forehead, never mind the fact that he had no body to speak of here, but it was a frown, nonetheless.

_Hisoka?_

His tone took on a plaintive edge.

_Where are you?_

He must have drifted there, a haunt, a spirit in the deepest reaches of endless space, an abyss that slow recognition told him was his own mind – he remembered this, this endless drifting, back when his mind had sought escape from near-second death after he had burned Akuma, and himself, to a tender crisp – trying very hard to not break down and cry like a little baby. _You're over fifty years old, Shiozaki-! Get a hold of yourself! _But that was easier said than done.

He didn't want to be alone. Not now.

Eternity must have passed by while he tried to gather the tattered remains of his courage and dignity, an eternity he could not bear as it left him with _silence_, silence he could ill afford to be drowned in, when something, just at the corner of his vision, caught his attention.

A warm glow, but more of a lightening of the formless gloom, rather than a light or a beacon shining through.

He reached out for it, strained for it with every fiber of his bodiless being, because this was different than the maelstrom of silver-white that lurked at the bottom of his mind, the sucking whirlpool he knew better than to question but one he avoided all the same. This absence of dark was familiar. One he had almost forgotten, but never completely, in the midst of the nightmare of green spells, freezing ice, and the screaming of mortals he had callously killed, all to preserve his own non-life.

_Taka!_

And that warmth, so familiar, so welcoming, enveloped him, gave him shape and substance, and he closed his eyes, and succumbed to the peace offered.

* * *

Sporadic shivers wracked him from head to foot, an uncontrolled reaction that left him helpless and dazed. Or was the world shaking instead of him? A particularly sharp _twist_ deep inside, a corkscrew of pain that bent him nearly double over the arm of someone who was vainly trying to hold him down, told him that that theory was flying out of the window.

"Kyo? Kyo, can you hear me? Look at me!"

That someone was also slapping his face – sharp smacks that mattered little amidst the fire churning his innards into ash. He grabbed hold of fingers, smaller than his own, slippery with. . water? He tightened his hold anyway; they provided an anchor, something to concentrate on even as he tried to focus his eyes on the ones just inches before his own.

_Pretty eyes_.

_Such a nice color. . .all. . greenish-gold._

_Taka's__ eyes are like that._

_Huh._

_Wonder where Taka is?_

Hard fingers dug into his chin, holding his face immobile as other hands (cold, long, gnarled, smooth, young, old – every sensation felt too _sharp!_) pressed down on other parts of his body, refusing to relinquish their hold even as he whimpered for release. His senses were on overdrive; 'hypersensitive' barely scraped the surface of the overload of information bombarding his nerves.

"Taka." Enma, his throat felt raw, all sanded tissues and blood. Just saying that name made sheet lightning flash across his vision. But he persisted, a dogged determination telling him that there was something important that must be told, must be made known before he could succumb. His eyes darted from side to side, trying to find his _koi_. Takashi would never leave him. He promised. Where was he?

"Taka. .where. . ?"

A soothing voice, vaguely familiar, said, "I'm right here Kyo. I'm not going anywhere. Can you see me?" And that same voice, (_where had he heard it before?) _with a slight catch, "Enma. . .your eyes."

Was there something wrong with his eyes? No matter. Where was Takashi? He was running out of time, the pain building to a crescendo that he anticipated with a certain, cowering sort of fear. The pain would be _bad_.

"Tell him," he rasped, clawing weakly at the face hovering before him, the one with the pretty eyes. "Muraki. . .journals."

"We got them Kyo," the voice replied. Something blurred was held up, a strained smile on the face of the one with pretty eyes. "See? It's safe. You and Hisoka did good."

Hisoka!

He tried to twist out of their grasp, tried to get to his friend but all too easily he was wrestled back down. As he lay panting, nerves screaming from the rough handling, he was assured by more voices that his friend was safe, that the grumpy empath was already cared for and wouldn't he like the same as well? But did Hisoka tell them? Make sure that they knew?

His back arched off the ground (_cold ash dead leaves dead earth winter's here so cold so cold blood too warm too much everything's dead no no no sleeping we're all sleeping_), face pulled in a grimace of pain.

He might have stayed like that forever; a grim rictus of pain and suffering but gentle hands soothed his brow, massaged his cramped limbs and eased him back down. He gasped for breath, tried to form words which he knew.

"S-Snape . ." he slurred, head rolling, neck loose. Voices broke out in an ear-numbing babble over and around him, filled with an urgency that made him tense up again until those hands eased his aches, that voice murmuring comfort.

His vision was dimming, senses finally giving in to the unbearable onslaught and his whole body went numb, even, it felt, the roots of his hair. He was running out of time.

He breathed out, "Snape. . .message. . said he. . .friend . ."

That quieted the annoying cacophony until blessed silence filled his head and he could say, with little pain and a sudden clarity that carried with it, oblivion.

"The Master knows."

* * *

Cold. He was so damned cold that it hurt. . .Every bump and scrape, every unfortunate encounter with a tree root, or a flailing branch, had left a mark that felt like fire across his chilled flesh. And it didn't help that the freezing November rain hadn't let up for a minute since they had escaped from the manor. It soaked through the thin comfort of the black cloak he had stolen from the Death Eaters and woke a lancing pain in the still unhealed cuts and abrasions that covered his body. It was dark, and he couldn't see where he was going. Hisoka was somewhere up ahead, trying to find a path, but Kyo hadn't seen any sign of him for what seemed like hours. He was terrified. _If I fall down again, I won't be getting back up. Nobody knows I'm here. If I fall –_

So, of course, he tripped, and went sprawling on his face in the frozen mud, unable to even put a hand out to save himself. The stuff was oozing into his mouth and up his nose, and gluing his eyes shut. The cold stench of rotting leaves and last year's ruin filled his lungs and he began to cough and spit, but couldn't get away from the smell. Couldn't get out of the mud. Couldn't escape the rain that increased in volume until it was cold needles piercing his naked back. And he was so cold that his muscles locked, and –

Kyo sat bolt upright, wheezing as he clutched a thick comforter around his shoulders. Every shuddering breath felt as if it were being dragged from the pit of his stomach, but they did no good, didn't serve to fill his lungs with air, and oh gods. . .the mud. . .Cold, so cold.

Arms came out of the darkness and wrapped reassuringly around his torso, and the next gulp of air was blessedly sweet. A familiar, much loved voice was murmuring in his ear, and even though the words themselves made no sense, the gentle rhythm of the language that he had heard since childhood penetrated, and the panic released its hold on his psyche. One small muscle at a time, Kyo relaxed into that hold until he was limp and weak, and the tears came with tired sobs like an exhausted child's. He was drawn into a lap, and held securely and rocked until all that was left was hiccups and peace.

"Better?" The one word barely disturbed the silence that had settled around them. Taka. Takashi was with him, and with the name came memory. He wasn't lost in the hateful forest, dirty, cold and forsaken. Takashi had come for him, and Kyo was safe.

"You came for me," he repeated the thought in a small voice. A warm hand stroked his hair, and he pushed into it, starved for the affection and contact.

"Of course I did, love. I'd never leave you," murmured Takashi. The man pressed a kiss to Kyo's temple, soft lips hot against his cold skin.

"Cold. . ." the boy whimpered. "Hold me?"

"Always, my love, always." And Kyo found himself being eased down to lie in what he belatedly registered as his husband's bed, in his borrowed professorial quarters. It appeared as though Takashi had made a nest out of every spare blanket and down comforter that he could lay his hands on, till Kyo felt like the Princess in the story about the Pea: ready to sink out of sight into the welcoming softness. But so long as his Taka was there with him, he wouldn't have cared if it were a manger filled with straw.

A muscular shoulder presented itself under his cheek as a pillow, and Kyo felt two arms wind their way through the cocooning blankets. The crisp linen of a starched dress shirt felt harsh against his bare skin, and he whined in protest. Another kiss, this time against his forehead shushed him. By way of apology, strong fingers began kneading the boy's aching back, ferreting out sore spots beneath his shoulder blades and along his spine. As each knot yielded to the skilful pressure, warmth returned and Kyo began to relax. He sighed and rubbed his face against Takashi.

Hidden memory, tucked away beneath the blankets and feather mattress, tickled the edges of awareness. Already the dreams were losing coherency, the wild run through a forest of shadows and death becoming something insubstantial and vague. Kyo _knew _that there was something important, something he ought to let Takashi know, but innate stubbornness and plain, stone-tough denial said _'not now'_. Not when the heat that was his husband practically seared his frozen skin, liquefied the blocks of ice that were his muscles.

And in an effort to let memory stay forgotten, he rubbed against his husband, demanding, without words, for comfort to be given and for forgetfulness of something he didn't want to speak of, ever again.

And because Takashi loved him more than life itself, because the man would move heaven and reign over hell should he ask of it, Takashi gave in. Gave in and ignored the uneasy dread that Kyo could sense deep inside his _koi's_guts.

"Poor Kyo. . ." The words were a gentle vibration. "Still so chilled. . .As your doctor, I strongly suggest that we do something about that."

Kyo felt a smile tug at his lips, and he whispered, "Doctor? I thought Madam Pomfrey was the senior medic at Hogwarts. Shouldn't she be in charge of my treatment?"

"Hm? Oh, no. . .I told her that you were a special case. Got your own personal physician." The firm pressure on Kyo's back grew lighter, transforming into long, stroking movements. Kyo snuggled in closer, suggestively rubbing one bare thigh across his husband's clothed limbs.

"That's a good idea, sensei. . .I've been feeling terribly weak." He paused, coughed delicately, and slid a hand down the front of Takashi's shirt. His fingers caught on a button and slipped carelessly through the folds of fabric. "You might want to give me a thorough check-up."

"Might, at that," Takashi answered gravely. Light kisses brushed over Kyo's eyelids, trailed down his cheekbones, and along the line of his jaw. "Hmmm. . .I think I feel the beginnings of a fever. Going to have to watch that _very_ carefully." Butterfly light, the lips reached the younger man's mouth, and a tongue tip teased at him. Sighing, Kyo opened to let it explore, Takashi huskily adding, "Got to take your temperature. . ."

The cold was definitely receding. Kyo felt himself going limp, passively allowing the slow examination. It felt sinfully good, melting the terror and strain from both his body and his mind. His husband shifted beneath him, long doctor's fingers massaging down his hips and following the curve of his buttocks as he was pulled up on top of the older man. Takashi broke off the kiss, nipping instead lightly at Kyo's jaw, then at an ear lobe. "I missed you," he said, slipping into a lower, rougher register. "You have no idea how badly I've wanted to drag you in here. . .to strip you. . .kiss you. . .fuck you silly."

Kyo's breath caught in his throat. Goose bumps that had nothing to do with the biting November weather sped up his legs, flowing from calves to knee, to thigh. He trembled at the sudden sensation, the wool trousers beneath him an inadequate cover to flesh that heated and swelled. Takashi wanted him.

Oh, sweet Enma. . .he wanted Takashi right back. A low whine escaped him.

The former sensei chuckled, the sound sliding through the boy like heated sake, sweet and potent. He rolled the unresisting weight off of him, laying Kyo down on the soft layers of down-filled comforters and moving to kneel astride the younger man's legs. Takashi pulled away the top-most layer of the warm blankets, exposing bare flesh to the golden caress of candlelight. His hazel eyes devoured the slender form beneath him, even as his hands traced the well-known lines of shoulders, pectorals, and abdomen. On the verge of tickling, the touch made Kyo suck in a sharp breath, hollowing his stomach as his ribs arched. Takashi's eyes darkened.

Immobilized by an electric field that hummed between them, the two men stared at one another. Then, blindly, Takashi reached for one of Kyo's hands where it lay loosely at his side. He wrappedit around the boy's erection, his larger hand closing around both. "Go on," he urged hoarsely. "I want to watch you."

Cheeks flushing faintly, Kyo obediently began to slide his hand down, feeling a sharp clenching in his stomach muscles. Takashi's squeezed, subtly hinting at possible rewards, and the younger man's hips jerked involuntarily. Their joined hands slid back up the thickening shaft till they reached the tip, where Takashi's thumb flicked out to rub across the slicked skin. Kyo gasped, but his mate had already released him, instead putting the clever fingers to work slowly in unbuttoning his shirt in a matching rhythm.

"Please," he whispered, hand shaky with need. "Make love to me."

"Not yet." The implacable answer was softened by a lingering kiss, Takashi bending down over him, so close but unreachable.

As the shirt fell away from the strong shoulders, a shudder racked Kyo. He nearly sobbed with the intensity of the desire he felt. But at the same time, he loved playing the game, and knew that the wait would be well worth it. Takashi rarely became quite so forceful or domineering, but when he did, the letting go would be earth-shattering.

"Kyo."

The gentle reprimand brought him around; his fingers had fallen lax, caught enticed by skin bared from restrictive clothing and tanned skin glowed amber under candlelight's soft benediction. But the black slacks had yet to leave his husband and even as his hand continued its interrupted rhythm, pleasure and want sending burgeoning ecstasy rippling down his spine, he moaned, desperate to have Takashi smothering him inside and out.

"If you can't follow orders. . .?" Gentle disapproval and one arched eyebrow suggested that Takashi was less than pleased.

"I can!" he gasped. He squirmed helplessly, fingers shaking.

"Then stop moving."

Kyo's hand froze in mid-stroke.

"Good, very good. Now, roll over onto your stomach." A tremor in the inflectionless words gave the lie to Takashi's control. Whimpering, Kyo hastened to comply, wriggling his legs around under the imprisoning weight. A cool hand slid between his body and the mattress, a light, impersonal touch brushing up the length of his erection. Involuntarily, the younger man thrust against it, only to find that it had gone, leaving him with the unsatisfying softness of a bed that yielded too easily. He fought the temptation to reach for himself again, torn between the desperate desire to give in to the force building in him, and anticipation for an even stronger kind of release. The clenching muscles in his abdomen twinged, becoming a stitch of overexertion. Kyo took as deep a breath as he could, ordering his body to behave.

He was so distracted that he almost missed the nudge of a fabric-covered knee between his thighs. Hastily, he slid his legs to the sides, getting himself tangled in the welter of soft blankets. A cramp twisted along his bottom rib, making him suck in a sharp breath. _What the fuck-- ?_ Kyo bit his lip until he tasted blood, and the pain eased.

Again, he had missed some of the action. Takashi's clever hands were kneading his bottom, paying special attention to the faint dimple that formed in one cheek as the muscles bunched helplessly under his assault. A gentle kiss ghosted over the other curve, so light that goose bumps once again rose on his skin. The tip of a hot tongue teased at the top of the cleft even as the former sensei's grip on his hips prevented the boy from spreading his legs any farther. The smooth caress of the cotton sheets beneath him contrasted deliciously with the faint prickle of fine wool along the inside of his knees. Kyo moaned, content to wallow in the sensations.

The blood was rushing to his head, filling his ears with a faint singing like the ocean sounds of a seashell. Heat and cold rushed across his skin, raising the fine hairs on his forearms and at the nape of his neck. Concentrated light danced behind his eyelids till he saw red spangles, then they skittered away, leaving him lightheaded. The cramp came back; only this time it bit at his other side. Kyo twitched.

But it was okay. . .someone was licking at him, the slickness of saliva and a firm tongue pressing into him, so good that he could hardly have breathed anyway. Kyo fisted his hands into the bedcovers, determined to behave, to be good so that the. . .oh gods. . .Teeth and nose and chin nuzzled against him, and oh, wet. . .He let loose a drunken giggle, deliberately tightening the muscles in his rear so that the planes and hollows shifted enticingly. His attacker growled fiercely and bit at him.

_Ow__. Not funny._ But even as he thought it, Kyo realized that the hurt was coming from a spot just behind his navel. Not from outside. Not from back there where good things, wonderful things were happening. It spasmed as the firm wetness again teased his opening, slipping past the outer most ring of his defenses. Burning liquid flooded his insides. _But his lover hadn't gotten there yet. _And it wasn't a good hurt, either. Bad. It was very bad. It reminded him of darkness lit by sullen embers, of hard clawed fingers.

Some corner of his mind registered the familiar sound of a zipper. Prickly fabric rubbed the inside of his thighs, followed by the warm velvet of skin. Kyo moaned and pushed back against it, wriggling till a beloved, breathless laugh reminded him that it was Takashi who teased his body. Lovely Takashi whose hand was rubbing that velvet flesh against his opening, positioning himself so that one long, slow thrust would slide him home where he belonged. Panic seized Kyo when that other place by his belly button tensed in anticipation of a different kind; the kind that involved Dark rituals and blood and screaming. But it was too late; the two opposing forces were headed for a collision like a freight train meeting a passenger train, all shattering red light and agony and screaming.

He was the one screaming as the hot blood began to pour from his body, turning the bed covers into a sticky swamp, reconstituting the frigid mud that sucked him down. Kyo wished the gods damned screaming would. . .just. . .stop. It was almost a relief when the clinging mud filled his ears as well as his nose and mouth, and everything was obliterated.

* * *

There was so much blood.

Takashi knew he ought to move, that he ought to check Kyo over, assess the damage and find out why the hellKyo's Shinigami healing didn't work properly. The lacerations caused by hair-bindings had disappeared. Slowly, but they had, nonetheless, so why this? Why so much blood?

There was a certain macabre beauty to the scene; Kyo lay twisted in the soaked sheets, darkened eyes staring blankly into nothing, breath so shallow that Takashi had to check for it, leaning in close to hear the none too steady rasp of air laboriously drawn in and out. All alabaster skin and scarlet liquid, Kyo could be a masterpiece painting – a glorious tribute to the frailty of life and the foolishness of humans by an insane mind. The torn sheets and crumpled blankets, bearing testimony to the ferocity of the seizures that had wracked Kyo without reason, modestly covered his groin, as though the boy was too shy to pose completely in the nude. The ruined cloth bunched around Kyo's legs also bore the heaviest stains.

Crouched over his husband like a tentative worshipper, naked save for the slacks around his knees and shivering with drying sweat, Takashi tried to make himself reach out, to draw the covers back and comfort his partner, his love. Kyo, despite the open, staring eyes, had been under for far too long for comfort _but dear Enma, the blood was just too much._

There was a soft 'pop', nearly soundless and it would have been missed if silence hadn't already stifled the room and its occupants. Movements robotic, jerky and unsure, Takashi swivelled his head around, meeting the large, bulbous eyes of a house-elf.

"Master," the house-elf, a female, judging by the clean, white toga of a dishtowel with the Hogwarts' crest whispered, long, spindly fingers twisting with worry. There was that fuzzy discomfort at the back of his mind – he had tried to get the little creatures to stop calling him that, but 'master' was the only concession they'd allow. Though, it had to better than the original '_great_ master'.

"Neely," he said dumbly. He sat back on his heels, utterly disregarding the fact that his flaccid penis hung out for the world and the elf to see and that his own husband was less than decent.

_And bloody. Don't forget bloody as well._

The house-elf pattered closer to the bed, flinching at the sight of the ruined sheets but there was only kindness and worry in her bulging eyes and there was comfort in her hesitant patting, abnormally long fingers caressing his forearm gently. "Master must take care of himself," she whispered on. "Master must be taking good care of his mate. Mate hurt very bad, yes?"

"Yes," he answered, voice distant. "Kyo's. . .hurt. I mean. . but he wasn't earlier and now. . oh _Enma_. . ."

Panic was setting in, bright, loud and raucous in his ears and he trembled, barely noticing Neely's frantic pleading to calm down. He was starting to hyperventilate, wheezing heavily, the breath catching in his throat. He wanted to get away, to forget what had happened just ten minutes ago but his limbs were locked in place and he _couldn't breathe—_

A snap, followed by the sharp sizzle of magic, alien and decidedly not human blanketed him like a cold mist. His senses felt clogged, as though he had stuffed sinuses but a moment later, the fog drifted away and with it, it carried the panic, the fear and plain horror.

"Neely," he repeated. Hands trembling finely, he rubbed his eyes, saying a muffled 'thank you.'

"No thanks for Neely. Master must look after mate now. Neely will help clean, yes?"

With a grateful nod to the house-elf, whom Takashi was almost amused to note had magicked his slacks on properly, he reached out for Kyo, ignoring the sharp clench in his chest that left a bitter taste in his mouth. Slowly, carefully, along with some help from Neely, they peeled away the blood-soaked sheets from Kyo, trying to minimize the jostling but even when Takashi had to turn the boy on his back, to release him from the constricting hold of the blankets, Kyo didn't stir.

Freed, Takashi had to face up to the fact that yes, most of the bleeding had occurred around Kyo's genitals, the liquid already drying and flaking. The house-elf handed him a warm, damp towel and biting down onhis tongue fiercely, Takashi set about cleaning the blood away. It took washes from several more towels before Kyo was clean and, steeling himself, desperately invoking the separation he had cultivated as a doctor when facing grievously injured patients, Takashi instructed the house-elf to help lift Kyo's legs up.

The pose was a ridiculous parody of lovemaking, Kyo a limp doll posed as a ready lover but he ignored that too, checking the younger Shinigami over with a detachment that would have shocked their friends, could they have seen it.

There was no tearing, no wounds that tallied with the amount of bleeding, and Takashi concluded, with certain dread, that it must have been internal. The source of it was not in doubt – but Kyo's anus was intact, only serving to back up his deduction.

Someone had done _something _to his _koi. _His _koibito._

HIS.

Gathering the limp, unresponsive form in his arms, barely acknowledging Neely's promise to make the room 'fit for master again, Neely will', Takashi stumbled into the living room with his burden, sinking down into the sofa. Automatically, he wrapped Kyo up in the new, thick woollen blanket the house-elf had given silently, and with his husband swathed in the warm folds, disconcertingly blank eyes finally falling shut of their own accord, Takashi stared into the fire that had sprung to life.

The crackling blaze held his attention completely and as he stared into the flames, cold certainty washed over him, tightening his hold around Kyo.

Someone would _pay_.

* * *

**to**** be continued**

* * *

**Kelly: **The Hisoka/Harry scene was courtesy of Lisa, without whom you'd still be waiting for this &$#$# chapter. Do review, ne? Especially for my new baby; **Monozuki**. Pretty please?

**Lisa: **Hisoka's poem is from **Mirror for the Moon: A Selection of Poems by Saigyo (born 1118 - died 1190)** Translated by William LaFleur. New Directions Books, 1978. ISBN 0-8112-0698-X. Pg. 7.


	35. Chapter 35: For Duty November 7th, 1996

**Title: **When Death Comes a'Knocking: Book 1 – Of Revelations

**Plot Mistresses: **Kelly & LibraryCat

**Spell Researchers: **LibraryCat and Kelly

**Warning: **Much angst, nasty recollections, Takashi being a bitch, Snape being a bitch (what else is new?), Snape being compassionate (now _that _is new) and excessive threat of Pensieves.

**Warning 2: R – IF YOU DON'T READ THE FOLLOWING THEN DO NOT COME COMPLAINING/WHINING ATUS LATER: **

This chapter contains some R material. Please exercise due judgment in reading it. Again, we'd like to state here that we DO NOT believe in useless, pointless sex or acts of sexuality and/or violence just for the shock factor. Every nuance was taken into careful consideration to its effect on the overall plot.

We ourselves were a bit disturbed at some of the more graphic sexual/violent acts that have or will be portrayed in this story but we have unanimously decided that it's integral to the plot.

Please, do not merely **READ**, but **THINK** as to why we wrote so-and-so in such a way. **THIS IS NOT A PWP** (Plot? What Plot?) **FIC**. If you do not think and act wisely, merely taking this story at face value, **WE WILL NOT HESITATE IN REMOVING THIS STORY IN ITS ENTIRETY FROM FANFICTION . NET. **

**Rating: **R

**Authors: **Kelly and LibraryCat

**Review replies: **(Sorry for the long reply section but I missed out on Ch.33's reviews so I'm making up for it here)

**Daemonchan: **Yes! You're back! Hurrah! Glad to hear you've settled down well. It's so sad when I lose contact with the old crowd.

**Tenshiamanda, Ann, Penny, sol-nemesis, OctoberLeaves, Joonie, Morgiana Kalius Xavier, Kaze, allicanta: **Thanks for the praise you lovely people. It feeds this poor author's soul. **OctoberLeaves**, thanks for still sticking around even after reading the trilogy. I keep on meaning to re-write them but considering I have, what, 3 other fics on hiatus? _Yare, yare_. . .**Kaze**-san, yosh! Hope you'll keep on reading!

**Hitomibishop: **Wonderful, insightful review as always. Yes, repercussions of your actions are lacking in some fics and I'm bound and determined that it won't happen in mine. (cough) Something which I'm sure drives Lisa crazy as she tries her best to make that a reality. . .(grin)

**Nekoki Yakkai: **Aha! Another old reader gone AWOL popping up again! (grin) You're forgiven, as long as you continue reading.

**Youkai Girl: **Your recommendation is duly taken under consideration (grin).

**Meg the fierce lady: **Cool name there, by the way (grin). Yay! More new readers! I never had much hopes of drawing in new ones since this fic is rated R and the general listing of stories doesn't show R-rated ones unless specified. Anyway, I'm happy you think we portrayed Harry, Snape, Hisoka and the gang well. The characterizations were what originally made me leery of writing HP. Thank god we're doing it right.

**Aki konoe: **Dearest, I hope you're doing better, yes? If you feel like ranting and need a sympathetic ear, don't be shy.

**The Wonderful Baka Neko: **Thank god you decided to still give me a chance, even after reading my first fic! You're absolutely right; who needs sleep when there are fics to be devoured! And ooh, glad you like Kyo and Takashi. Since they're products of my deprived imagination, yes, I think it's safe to say they are pretty hot (snicker). Check out my Yahoo mailing list. There's tons of lovely fanart there of my babies.

**AniDragon, aka Riona-chan, rinchan91, AngelZash, Morgiana Kalius Xavier **(succinct, yet very heartfelt reviews. Thank you)**, Aiden Istar **(In the words of **Melindaleo**; if it was easy, it ain't fanfiction –grin-)**, Jenna: **Again, thank you for such wonderful reviews. You people make my day.

**Yanagi-sen: **(cough) Yes, poor Takashi. . .I _like _torturing the man. . . .

**Angel of the Eclipse: **Angel-san! Angel-san! Hello! (grin) Ack, thanks for pointing out the 'genital' bit! See, even after numerous beta work, we still miss out on these things. . .(sigh) But, really, your reviews. . .are awesome as always.

**Bellashade: **I'm afraid that I am rather enamored of Kyo and Takashi, and have put up the appropriate warnings. Thanks for giving this story a chance anyway (smiles).

**Beysie: **Thanks for giving my story a try! Honestly though, it wouldn't have become what it is now without Lisa's help. From just comments to outright co-writer, Lisa really made the story rock.

**Youkai Girl: **Maa, maa, just the fact that you people are still supporting me makes it all worth while. Thank you.

* * *

**Chapter 35**

**For Duty**

**November 7th, 1996**

* * *

Tsuzuki dozed fitfully, curled protectively around the slight figure of the boy who shared his bed, and his heart. Occasionally, Hisoka would twitch, or quiver, jolting his husband into wakefulness, but his intense green eyes never opened, and eventually, Tsuzuki's frayed nerves would settle, and his breathing grow even again. Yet he couldn't forget how close he had come to losing Hisoka – forever, this time – and each time that idea crossed his mind, the brunet found himself freezing in terror, fighting to avoid pressing tight to the sleeping form, until he could wake enough to reassure himself that Hisoka was indeed there. That he hadn't gone away again.

But it was hard to hold back the awareness that this time _had_ nearly been the end of the recalcitrant being that formed the core of the older Shinigami's existence. Hisoka had nearly died his final death out there, in those horrible, nightmarish English woods.

Alone.

Whimpering, the dark haired man bit his lip and resisted the temptation to give in and bawl; it wouldn't help matters, might even make them worse, and the last thing he wanted was to cause his love any more distress. And it would never do to touch the empath, to add the burden of his own nightmares to those that already troubled his beloved's soul.

There hadn't been a damned thing that he could do to save his boy.

Tears seeped from beneath Tsuzuki's closed lids, adding clots of wet to already sticky lashes and exhaustion bruised skin. Despair and weariness were hardly new to the Shinigami; as the Shokan's oldest field operative, he had been witness to more than one passing on of a colleague, and even if that person had attained peace and was ready to relinquish the mortal world, it was never easy to be one of the ones left behind. The servants of Enma-Daioh might no longer be truly human, but they could still grieve. Could still love.

Maybe that was the root of his problem? That he loved the fierce/frail, diminutive blond too well? That he couldn't bear the thought of losing someone so precious?

It had shocked Tsuzuki when Hisoka had suddenly relented back in that seared clearing, and held out his arms for comfort. The times that the mulish blond went so far as to admit that he needed anything from anyone were few and far between. Of course, Tsuzuki reflected fondly, and with more than a little jealousy, Hisoka'd already tangled with the almost-as-stubborn brick wall called 'Harry,' and that had probably made a difference. A _big_ difference. Harry could wear out a diamond when it came to digging in his heels and forcing the situation to go the way he saw it as needing to. And Tsuzuki was absurdly grateful to the English wizard for it. But now, with Hisoka trembling and twitching in the throes of his own nightmares, the older man wished that none of it had ever happened.

Beside him, the object of his vigil gave a murmured protest, twisting a fistful of sheet as though it were a deadly foe, then subsiding with a whimpered sigh. Tension slowly seeped from the thin shoulders, clad in an oversized pair of pajamas belonging to the larger occupant of the canopied bed, as the furious scowl that scrunched the forever-young features melted away. Tsuzuki took a chance and brushed back a strand of the lank hair falling down into the boy's face, then closed his own eyes again and at last resigned himself to sleep, and his own, fearful dreams.

_The flickering images had the surreal haste that Tsuzuki associated with his infrequent dreaming, but the fear that they inspired was no less real for that. Every scrape, every ache felt authentic, and true. Chestnut brown hair, nearly black with dirt, was plastered to his forehead with drying mud and sweat, and more of the same caked his professorial robes. The rasp of filthy cloth, and the smell of decaying leaves had a verifiable presence, and the senior Shinigami **knew** that it didn't matter whether his nightmares were founded on memory, or on imagination; in this place all were equally solid. _

_Tsuzuki's heart was beating so hard that he thought it would burst out of his chest and go flying away, like some kind of demented hummingbird. Wrapped in his arms, Hisoka was trying desperately to keep his pain at bay, to keep it from overwhelming his frantic partner, and that was making his panic even worse. _

_It didn't matter that this was all in the past. That it was just a memory._

_Materializing in the middle of the Three Broomsticks' private parlor in Hogsmeade with the bloody, half naked boy in his arms scared Professor Flitwick so badly that he had dumped an entire bottle of butterbeer in his lap. Before the diminutive Charms professor could jump to help, or demand an explanation, the tall Asian took a stumbling step backwards. "C-carriage?" Tsuzuki stammered incoherently._

_"Oh!" Flitwick squeaked. "Do you want me to summon Poppy? She -"_

_Superstitious dread gripped the Shinigami; the first time, when this had really transpired, he had insisted on the carriage, even though the trip from Hogsmeade to the castle had been hellish. But he didn't dare deviate from his original path. What if Hisoka were to vanish because of it? What if trying to change the course of events were to bring about the True Death that so terrified him? If he were to lose the empath -- ?_

_"No!" Tsuzuki's grip tightened and he fought off the desire to sob, or to start throwing things. Only the thought that neither would help Hisoka kept him from losing control. He swallowed and said more quietly, "No, Madame Pomfrey will probably be taking care of Shiozaki-kun. She has her hands full just now. It will be okay. Just, please, get us a carriage so we can go to the castle."_

_Nagging doubt said 'But Takashi is going to refuse her help… You could say 'yes' and it might help 'Soka-chan…' but Tsuzuki didn't dare. _

_A calmer, more rational part of his consciousness pointed out helpfully that he was cracking up. It wondered what had become of the Shinigami who had once faced down the evil that was Muraki, all for the sake of one delicate blond boy. "Shut up!" he hissed under his breath. His other self helpfully asked if this were the same Tsuzuki who had slashed at his wrists, over and over in the sanatorium. _

_Flinching, he huddled closer to his sleeping Hisoka, desperate for the exasperated affection and scorn. It didn't bother him to play the idiot, if it meant creeping past barbed wire defenses and into that guarded heart. Without his beloved, he might as well not exist at all, so what was a little dignity in exchange? Cheap at triple the price. . ._

_Unaware that he was only following a script, Flitwick was still prattling on. "You could floo- No, of course not. It would be too dangerous while you're carrying someone. What if you should stumble?" Tiny hands, stronger than they looked, grasped the older Shinigami's elbow and dragged him toward the door. "Madam Rosemerta!" The Charms professor's thin voice rose. "We need to borrow your carriage!"_

_Tsuzuki hardly noticed that the buxom innkeeper came at a run, the skirts of her long robes hiked up as she ran full speed. "Professor? What's the matter? Oh-" Her reaction wasn't quite as extreme as that of the elderly man, but her round face still went pale as she lurched to a stop. "Oh, the poor child! Is he -" _

_That raw sympathy was the hardest part to bear. "No. But we need to get to the school. Please?" he demanded thickly. Tsuzuki squeezed his eyes shut, willing the tears that were piling up to hold off. No matter how hard Hisoka was shielding, he didn't need to be subjected to the visual and aural experience of a blubbering wreck of a partner. **I will not cry. . .I will NOT cry. . .** he repeated it like a mantra, and miraculously, it worked. His nightmare/dream/recollection gathered speed, racketing along like a train on uneven tracks. The sturdy old carriage that visitors used to travel from the train station to the castle beyond the lake was brought around in a matter of minutes. In the meantime, Madam Rosemerta gave the trembling man and his precious burden the oddest look, and located a soft blanket. Gently, she persuaded the distraught Shinigami to trade in Hisoka's tattered cloak for it. Then the two of them were safely bundled into the carriage's musty interior, and it was lurching forward over the cobbled street, magically propelled up the winding road toward the castle gates. _

_The whole world had narrowed by then to one goal: reaching the safety of his rooms, and coincidentally, the end of the surreal replaying of events. And the thought and desire of making it there carried him through the mass of students who crowded the Entrance Hall of the school, silently parting them like the __Red Sea__. It froze the slowly revolving staircases, and drove Peeves the poltergeist away with a startled **meep!** And that same inflexible **need** also slammed and warded the door of his chamber in the face of a very startled Filch, before the caretaker could say so much as a single word about the inappropriateness of having a student in a professor's quarters._

_Liquid relief flooded through the trembling Shinigami. _

**_I didn't fail him._**

**_Hisoka is safe._**

* * *

_You see my pain is real_

_Watch my world dissolve_

_And pretend that none of us see the fall_

_As I turn to sand_

_You took me by the hand_

_And declared that love prevails over all_

**-System of a Down "Ego Brain"-**

* * *

Dumbledore regarded the dark-stained door before him thoughtfully. The wood was almost as old as the castle itself, preserved through magic and its inherent durability, iron-banded and more than a little forbidding to the uninvited guest. But considering that he _was _the Headmaster, no door was barred, no window locked, no secret passage could be denied him.

And yet.

And yet, for two days – a full forty-eight hours – this particular door, and one like it just down the hallway, were ones he could not command to open.

It was, he had to admit, quite impressive. And more than a little annoying. And let's not forget very disturbing.

He had tried pleading directly with Hogwarts but for whatever reason, the castle had refused his request. Indeed, he had gotten the impression of a warning, though whether it was for his safety or the occupants within was debatable.

But enough was enough. Poppy Pomfrey was _that _close to hexing down the doors herself, worry for the injured boys overcoming her shame regarding that regretful dreaming incident. Since he didn't want to lose the best nurse Hogwarts had ever seen, as well as his own increasing apprehension for Shiozaki and Kurosaki's state, Dumbledore had finally decided to issue an ultimatum for the Japanese: to come out of their self-imposed seclusion or to have their quarters broken into.

And there was the matter of Shiozaki's half-lucid message.

_The Master knows._

His Potions Master had outright stated that both he and Silas knew what they were getting into, turning traitor to the Dark Lord, but there was no denying the pain in the usually expressionless slate eyes when a worn werewolf reported back after the rescue mission.

Dumbledore shook his head, long beard waggling sadly. He was getting too old for this.

With a sigh, squaring his thin, yet unbowed shoulders, he raised a wrinkled hand to knock, only to have the door swing open on silent hinges even before his fist met rock-hard wood.

He snatched his hand back quickly. "Takashi!" he exclaimed. "We were getting worried about. . . ."

The man standing in the doorway bore little resemblance to Takashi Matsumada. Oh, it was the same man, no doubt. But it wasn't _him_. Gone was the kindly light in green-flecked hazel eyes, the constant half smile that grew wider whenever his partner entered the same room, and the general, unflappable air so rare to be found in one so young.

This man was all hard lines and chiseled planes. The warm eyes were cold now, flat and unfriendly; a hard amber that hinted at simmering rage. The purple bruises underneath told of sleepless nights and energy spent recklessly, the face pallid and creases bracketing the mouth along with an overall air of dissipation.

"Headmaster."

Instinctive reaction had the Headmaster's wand ready to slip into his hand, a spell tingling at the tip of his tongue.

"Takashi," he nodded carefully. He hesitated, wondering how best to phrase his 'demand' but what came out of his mouth instead was a "Are you alright?"

Takashi smiled in mirthless amusement. "Not really."

Dumbledore, admittedly, was floundered by that candid admission but years of playing politics showed only a caring mask while his mind raced feverishly as he recalled Lupin, Moody and McGonagall's every word concerning the condition of the two young Japanese. Both Takashi and Tsuzuki had refused Pomfrey's help with their respective partners, and judging by the Takashi that stood before him, radiating all the friendliness of a Dementor, he could guess that whatever it was, it had been devastating. And experience warned him with a tingle down his spine that this was just the beginning.

His musings were cut short by Takashi stepping aside and gesturing politely. "Won't you please come in?"

Showing none of his apprehension, Dumbledore accepted the invitation gracefully, careful to remember to take off his pointy-toed boots, and don the furry house slippers he was offered instead. Takashi had been the only one to accept the Headmaster's invitation to decorate his teacher's apartment any way he pleased (Tsuzuki had opted to remain with the original decor) and the result was a rather interesting style not often seen at Hogwarts; dark, polished wooden floors and spare furnishings of a modern, Muggle style. Yet it all came together comfortably enough.

"You've done well with the place," he offered, as though he hadn't seen the rooms before, not even through judicious use of discrete surveillance spells. The smile he got in return was fixed and, what was that Muggle word? Ah yes, plastic. It was a plastic smile. Clad in loose, dark cotton trousers and a simple white shirt, Takashi looked the part of a relaxed host, padding around barefoot as he ushered the Headmaster to a squishy armchair by the fire. Yet the old wizard noted the fine trembling that beset the long-fingered hands, the strain evident and emphasizing the earlier observation of stress and exhaustion.

"Takashi," he said kindly, laying a gentle hand on Takashi's as his tea was poured without magic. "You don't look very well. How is Shiozaki? Has he been healed?"

"Healed?" the Japanese repeated softly, before looking up to meet his steady gaze, auburn strands obscuring the disquieting eyes. Without breaking contact, Takashi backed slowly, tea forgotten as he folded himself elegantly into the couch by the Headmaster's armchair, crossing his legs neatly. Chin propped negligently on one hand, Takashi's cold stare never abated. "Has he healed?" His smile was more of a baring of fangs, rather than genuine appreciation of the concern the old wizard was showing. "Considering that my husband has been cursed by wizards, Headmaster, no, he is _not _healed."

Dumbledore stilled, twinkling blue eyes freezing over and widening just the slightest fraction. 'Curse' was never a good word to use, especially when it concerned a former prisoner of Voldemort. "How was he cursed?" he asked calmly instead. Rushing around panicking would be of no use, as his near two centuries of life had taught.

Takashi answered him with harsh laughter. "How was he cursed? I don't know the specifics, Headmaster, as Kyo refuses to tell me, but I know enough. I know that even now, something evil is eating him from the inside slowly." His fist clenched, jaw grinding audibly before he spat out, "Kyo's been cursed by Western magic. I want Western magic to help him."

"Undoubtedly we will," he sought to assure the man. "But—"

"But _nothing!" _Takashi hissed, palm slashing a furious line through the air. "We did not ask to participate in this foolish war between humans, Headmaster! We were _quite _happy living our life as it were and it was only due to our Lord's command that we are here, sacrificing for those we hold no obligation to save for affection! And now—" Dumbledore nearly winced at the broken laughter, "Now we find that more is asked of us!"

The Headmaster had some experience in dealing with grieving, emotionally battered survivors of war and evil – hard not to when you headed a resistance against it - and he knew plenty that could assuage the hurting soul, soothe a balm over a broken heart. But his experience had not taught him how to deal with one such as Takashi Matsumada. Because even as he prepared to offer help and support, even as he vainly tried to get the man to stop his furious tirade, _it _happened.

_Draco numquam titillandis._

The coiling energies of the castle, usually quiescent yet watchful, stirred nervously around him. Dumbledore frowned with poorly concealed uneasiness as a soft glow of mage light coalesced around the younger man. He sensed that Matsumada was taking advantage of the power that lay readily around him, rather than conjuring raw magical forces, but it was still worrisome. Few wizards had the ability to shape what lay in ebbing and flowing tides around them, and a prickle of apprehension sped down the backs of the elder wizard's arms, raising the fine hairs. Any assurance Tsuzuki had given with revealing their purpose here in Hogwarts was tainted with the unease of growing realization – Matsumada had the ability to _manipulate _magic, and getting a firsthand demonstration of it, Dumbledore was entirely too aware of how dangerous such a talent could be, held by the hands of one obviously intent on revenge.

"They think themselves as special, as frightening, as _more _than mere mortals," Takashi was biting out. He had risen from his seat, looming over the aged wizard who, to his alarm, felt his own lungs tighten, like the grip of magically induced asthma, like drowning in clear air that suddenly failed to fill his aching chest. "_Death_ Eaters! Presumptuous _fools! _They do not know the _true _meaning of death! But they will," Takashi's voice dropped into a low murmur, twining like the caress of a serpent.

"Stop," Dumbledore whispered. Blazing gold eyes met his. The circling bands of power trembled, fearsome and wild, barely leashed. The young onmyouji's voice was inhumanly low, drawing a shiver from the seated wizard.

"When I get my hands on them, they are going to regret this. . .**_so_** much. I will draw the breath of life from their lungs, and leave them to beg for its return.. . .until they beg for death instead."

"Taka."

Sweet, blessedly cool air filled his denied lungs and Dumbledore breathed in grateful gulps. Even as he wheezed lightly, trembling hand clutching his chest, the younger Japanese, Shiozaki, stepped into the dim illumination provided by the fire and brackets of candles on the wall. The Headmaster watched warily as Takashi paled, fists clenching.

"Taka," the boy repeated, arms crossed over his chest. Shiozaki looked fine, if you could ignore the too-prominent cheekbones, the bruised skin beneath his eyes (had his irises changed _color?_) and how sadly waiflike he looked, clothed in a shirt that hung loosely on his thin frame and the hems of the pants that dragged on the floor. "That's the Headmaster, Taka. You don't go around threatening the Headmaster." For all the bland tones, the old wizard was surprised to discover that there actually was a note of teasing in the young man's voice.

Takashi flushed, dropping his eyes to the floor. "I got carried away," he answered stiffly.

"You don't say." Yes, Shiozaki _did _sound amused. But then, the younger Japanese closed the distance which his own husband seemed reluctant to, gripping Takashi's chin and forcing the man to meet his gaze. "It wasn't your fault, love. And it's not the Headmaster's fault, or Enma's. Lay the blame where it really lies, yes?"

The dark look that twisted the handsome face made Dumbledore fear another incident as earlier but it appeared, with his partner there, Takashi could control himself and that ugly look quickly passed. Even when he hissed, "Voldemort."

Shiozaki's face was carefully blank but he nodded slowly, "Yes, Voldemort," he said in a faint voice. Seemingly drained, the boy sighed, patting his husband's arm fondly before shooing Takashi back into his seat and making sure that the Headmaster was comfortable, _do forgive him, Headmaster. It's the stress, as I'm sure you know, _before heading into the small adjoining kitchen and coming back with a fresh pot of tea.

As Shiozaki busied himself with the tea things, carefully avoiding catching anyone's eyes, Takashi dipped his head briefly, cheeks coloring faintly. "I am sorry, Headmaster, for my lack of control."

"Entirely understandable, dear man," he waved the apology away. But the blue gaze he trained on the man lacked any twinkle. "Instead, I must admit, this talent of yours may very well help us. . .and a few colleagues of mine. People who share the same goals and dreams as we do," he added significantly.

He didn't have long to wait. As Shiozaki poured a fresh cup for him, his husband and himself, Takashi leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together before his face. "I'm assuming you're talking about the Order of the Phoenix."

Dumbledore stiffened, declining the offered cupabsently. "Did Harry tell you of this?"

Takashi quirked a small smile, accepting his tea with a wordless gesture, inviting Shiozaki to join him by his side. "No, he didn't," he said easily and Dumbledore could not detect a lie in those words, even if he failed to Legillimize the both of them. "We have our own sources; why else would we place ourselves so near to the resistance's leader?"

"Indeed," the Headmaster acquiesced with a soft chuckle. "Allow me to explain anyway, just in case." At both Takashi and Shiozaki's nods, he continued. "The Order is comprised of witches and wizards who survived Voldemort's first attempt at seizing power and even as we speak, we are recruiting more to our side; those who refuse to blind themselves to the truth. In fact, you have met some of them."

The two Japanese murmured indistinct assents.

"Together, they include some of the finest wizarding minds that I know. If anyone can find a way to break the curse on you, Shiozaki, it is them."

To the aged wizard's surprise, Shiozaki demurred politely as he sipped his tea. "I don't think we need to waste valuable resources on myself, Headmaster." Unlike Takashi's, the young Japanese' smile was easy and unforced, curving his pale lips and crinkling the corners of his eyes (Merlin, they _had _changed color!). But relying on magic for every answer was a fool's way and Dumbledore was no fool. He had the instincts of a man bred in intrigue and deceptions, of playing the strings of men in power as a master puppeteer would.

Not to mention having eleven grandchildren and five great-grandchildren who could bamboozle the socks off of you as if you happened to be born yesterday.

He spoke up, quite kindly, really, "My dear boy, being cursed is no laughing matter. Especially when the one involved is the Dark Lord. We would not be wasting resources, as you put it," he said quite firmly when Shiozaki made to protest. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend, isn't it so?"

Both Japanese quirked half-smiles at that, which he was gratified to note. "Not to mention," he added in rebuke, frowning over gold, half-moon spectacles on a suddenly fidgety Shiozaki, "that I am the Headmaster of this school young man, and as far as I am concerned, you are still a student of Hogwarts. Would you deny me the obligation and need to fulfill my duty?"

"Of course not, Headmaster," the young man hurried to reassure him, shooting his partner a dark glare at Takashi's ill-concealed snort of amusement. "I just don't want to be a burden, that's all."

"Nonsense!" Dumbledore exclaimed cheerfully, ignoring how Shiozaki's smile had turned rather sickly. "In fact, why don't we have Madam Pomfrey come down and give you a thorough check-up? No disrespect intended, my good man," he added, belatedly remembering that Takashi himself was a medical practitioner in the Muggle world.

"None taken, sir," Takashi murmured to his tea.

Beaming, Dumbledore patted his many pockets, coming up with bits of fluff, an eagle quill, Fawkes' favorite brand of peanuts ("I've been looking for those!"), an Arithmancer's watch and finally, a small, purple velvet drawstring pouch. Taking a pinch of floo powder from within, he tossed it into the flames and when the fire roared emerald green, he called out, "Poppy! To Professor Matsumada's apartment, if you will."

It appeared as if the mediwitch had anticipated the Headmaster's call. Not a moment after his summons, the fire roared higher, licking the mantelpiece and causing Shiozaki to scuttle back in his seat in fright. As Takashi shushed his distraught partner who was eyeing the flames warily, a black shape grew within, growing larger and larger and with a whoosh of hot air and ashes, the school's mediwitch appeared in the Japanese' living room, brushing the soot off her robes irritably.

"Mr. Shiozaki," she greeted the boy, wary and failing to meet his eyes properly. His, and his husband's. "Professor."

"Madam."

"I hate the floo system."

That complaint, muttered darkly, made the Headmaster smile benignly. He had noticed Shiozaki's aversion to large, open flames but flooing, unfortunately, was a necessity in the wizarding world. He told the boy as much, only to have his explanations waved away with a faint flush to pale cheeks.

"Well." Looking rather nonplussed, Pomfrey stared back and forth between Takashi and Shiozaki, the latter suddenly finding acute interest in the floor's grain. If Takashi himself felt any lingering animosity towards the witch after the unfortunate incident in the infirmary, he showed none of it. Instead, with something resembling his usual calm demeanor, he offered the mediwitch tea, who accepted, flustered and unsure. Smoothing her apron awkwardly one-handed, she set herself down primly in another armchair, refusing the Headmaster's offer of a lemon drop. "I'm assuming you need me here for a diagnostic scan, Headmaster?"

"Indeed," he nodded. "Mr. Shiozaki here insists that there's nothing to worry about—" the aforementioned Japanese winced at the not-so-subtle reproach, "But myself and Professor Matsumada feel that he would benefit from your expert opinion."

"Yes, and I must add my own initial observations." Takashi set his cup down, lacing his fingers together. He said so quite calmly, as one professional to another, addressing Pomfrey who sat up straighter as this obvious show of trust, abandoning her own drink and taking out a dictation quill and parchment.

"His root chakra is corrupted," Takashi said quietly. By his side, Shiozaki started, spilling his tea with an oath and murmured a 'thank you' when the Headmaster dried the mess with a charm.

Dumbledore was intrigued by the conversation. His respect for the Japanese professor increased tenfold – here was a man who was willing to put aside his grief and anger and instead, approach the problem with the calm detachment that wouldn't be amiss in a wizard twice his age. Yes, the Japanese would be an invaluable addition to the Order, talents and all. And if he wasn't mistaken, there was more that had yet to be told. Specifically, judging by what he knew of Eastern sorcery and his own observations of the school's guests, if Takashi here could manipulate the stuff of magic, if Tsuzuki could command the appearance of what had appeared to be the fabled White Tiger of the North, then surely the other two, younger Japanese had their own surprises in store.

"The energy is contaminated," Takashi was continuing quietly. "By what, I'm not sure. But it's spreading to his sacral chakra and in my opinion, it won't stop until all of his energy centers are completely tainted."

"Yes, I've heard of this 'chakra' system," Pomfrey nodded. "An Eastern concept of how magic flows in the human body," she explained absently to the Headmaster. "There are seven wheels, the chakra, along the spine, which affects the person's body and magic differently. An interesting concept – it covers what Western medicine seems unable to explain adequately. If I may. . .?" She peered around Takashi quizzically, anxiety again tightening her features, her wand held in a rather tremulous grasp.

When Takashi elbowed his partner in the ribs, quite sharply, Shiozaki graced him with a ferocious scowl, before erasing his rather bleak expression to reward the mediwitch with a wan grin.

"I really am fine. . ."

Protestations of good health and the lack of any need for medical intervention set the school nurse back on familiar ground. Wand waving threateningly, she managed to bully the young man into settling back into the couch, practically _ordering _her charge to relax. Snorting, Shiozaki nevertheless complied and with a whispered incantation, the medical spell she used trailed sparkles of golden light all around the boy's frame, hovering on his skin and changing colors from a deep amber to ruby red.

Muttering to herself, Pomfrey continued her scan, dictation quill jotting down her observations faithfully, none of them knowing what each change in her spells meant but there was professional curiosity all the same on Takashi's face.

"I'm done," she finally announced. Briskly, she wiped her wand clean on her starched apron. "Physically, there's not much wrong with Mr. Shiozaki here. There's some malnourishment evident, nothing a few good meals can't fix, and traces of exhaustion. But. . . ."

"But what, Poppy?" Dumbledore coaxed.

She exchanged a look with Takashi, one which Shiozaki caught and it generated a far more vicious scowl than before. "As Professor Matsumada has said, Mr. Shiozaki's magical core is. . .polluted, for lack of a better word. There's not much more I can say," she shrugged helplessly. "I'm afraid that this is out of my depth, Headmaster. I fear we need another's opinion. . ." She hesitated briefly, before plunging on. "Someone with expertise in the Dark Arts."

Shiozaki shifted uneasily, visibly tensing when his husband placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Neither spoke, and Dumbledore himself knew better than to break the moment. Silence was just as effective in prompting talk, when threats or pleadings failed.

"He said I was an alchemist's dream." The young Japanese shifted again, suddenly restless and his movements dislodged his husband's hand. "He took. . . .he wanted a _prima materia _is what he called it. . ."

"Prime material. . ." Takashi frowned, before realization widened his eyes comically. "Did he. . .did he. . ._rape _you?" he asked, hoarse with trepidation.

"No."

"Kyo—"

"I said 'no,' alright!" Shiozaki snapped. "And I think I ought to know whether I was raped or not, since I was the one participating in that sick ritual!"

"There was a ritual?"

Both Japanese whipped their heads around, disconcerted to realize that they still had an audience. Takashi visibly restrained himself, fists clenching repeatedly, uselessly.

"I didn't recognize the type of array he used," Dumbledore was answered flatly. "I'm more familiar with the _Daijo Bukkyo_, the _Mahayana_ school which forms the basis of our _Vajrayana_ spellworkings. He. . .he. . ."

As though they hadn't been at odds just moments earlier, Shiozaki moved instinctively into Takashi's side, the older man enfolding him within a tight embrace. Takashi rubbed his cheek over glossy hair, murmuring words too soft to be heard by the Headmaster. The boy took a deep breath, and continued haltingly, transferring his stare to the wooden floor.

"Four steps. He said that magic enjoys symmetry in numbers. . .first, for the secret fire. . ."

And Shiozaki refused to say another word, lips tightening into a white line that not even his husband could coax away.

"There is. . ." Dumbledore offered slowly, "There is a way for you to show us what happened, for your memory of that incident to be extracted. It is through the use of a Pensieve. With it, you would have no need to tell us verbally; we could instead—"

"No."

"Shiozaki—"

"No. In fact, you know what? I think I should go see Professor Snape. Yes, definitely a good idea." The other occupants of the apartment, Dumbledore included, were startled when Shiozaki jumped to his feet, clapping his hands in finality. "I'm guessing we're all agreed? Good," he rushed on, not waiting for an answer. "Best man to talk to, really, when it comes to the Dark Arts. Or so school gossip says."

"Kyo—"

"Ah, classes are cancelled, right?" Not even stopping to snag a cloak, Shiozaki rushed to the door, throwing a hurried wave on the way. "And I really need to pass on that message to him, from a friend you know."

"Shiozaki Kyo, by Enma you get your ass back here now or I'll—"

"_Ja matta ne_!"

With an inevitability that spoke of desperation, the door slammed shut behind him, leaving a rather pissed off husband, a worried nurse, and a Headmaster who chewed on a lemon drop thoughtfully.

* * *

Hisoka had what was probably going to go down in history as one of the _worst_ headaches ever, and given his life and after life up to that point that was saying quite a lot. He made a wretched noise that didn't come close to being an intelligible word, and forced his eyes to open. The scarlet canopy of an unfamiliar bed greeted him, and he wondered just where the hell he was.

Someone had taken the time to clean him up, that much was obvious. He was wonderfully dirt and blood free, and dressed in a too large set of chocolate brown flannel pajamas that probably made him look even more fragile than usual. The magically inflicted cuts on his forearms itched, but they were closing nicely and would probably be completely gone within a day or two. There was nothing at all to see from the beating that Lucius had given him. Every last bruise and scrap had already vanished. Now, if his head would just follow, he would be happy. Hisoka dragged the pillow up over his face and considered trying for his second death by way of suffocation. The plump cushion was mercilessly tugged away and laughing purple eyes met his glare.

"Feeling any better?" his husband asked innocently.

"No." Even muffled, there was no mistaking the surliness behind that blunt syllable. Hisoka yanked the pillow back up and buried his face in it.

"Breakfast. . .yummy breakfast," sang Tsuzuki. He chuckled when Hisoka's traitorous stomach growled, and ducked when the cushion came flying his way. But there was an aura of desperation and overwhelming fear beneath the man's playfulness, beneath the charming, slightly incompetent, cheery exterior that he presented to the outside world. Not that that façade had had the power to deceive the empath in a very long time. If it ever had completely. A wave of self-loathing and impotent helplessness washed over Hisoka, mingling with his own sense of disgust. The pain within his skull spiked, bringing with it nausea, and it took all his concentration to not scream.

It would be necessary to mislead Tsuzuki. It would be for his own good, after all.

The kind-hearted Shinigami didn't need to be further worried by the pathetic creature sharing his bed. By the monster.

_Because I** am **a monster. I deserve this._

Hisoka gritted his teeth, and shoved the distress aside. He could do this. It took a long time for his abused stomach to accept the first solid food that had come its way in days. But by the time he had tucked away a respectable portion of scrambled eggs, a slice of toast with marmalade, and two cups of tea, his headache had faded to a grinding, persistent roar, rather than razor-edged peaks. The boy could almost convince himself that it was the sound that one got from holding a shell to one's ear. Almost. Except that sea shells didn't use psychic tickling as a means of attack. His focus disrupted, he glared at Tsuzuki over the rim of his teacup, then rolled his eyes as his partner predictably began to whine, "'Soka. . .That's so mean! You were gone so long!" Snarling, he set the empty cup on the bed tray and burrowed down into the warm cocoon of blankets. The need for a healing trance was an imperative that Hisoka couldn't deny and, exhausted, he dropped into a doze again within seconds, intent on drawing his ragged reserves together.

Only, it wasn't working.

From outside the barrier of down comforter and thick quilts, Tsuzuki's presence continued to harry at the sleeping empath, and Hisoka's semi-conscious dream-self had to bite its mental tongue since yelling would only hurt the man's feelings. Not that he was completely sure just what the older Shinigami _was_ feeling. For all the empath could tell, Tsuzuki was just trying to put on a brave face, and to watch over his partner. And if that were the case, the boy could even appreciate it; Tsuzuki was the sort of individual who cared deeply for others, and would sacrifice to do for them what he didn't feel himself worthy of. But there were also times when being the object of that concern sucked, when the conniving side of the other man's nature came to the fore.

Like now.

The tall brunet was nowhere near as oblivious to others as he pretended. Seeing that his husband was still in need of rest, Tsuzuki patiently settled himself into a chair safely out of range of physical contact. But he was projecting like crazy as he himself dozed off, day-dreaming a lurid mixture of the erotic and the maternal that normally drove Hisoka straight up a wall.

_One might say that being subjected to** that** could suck in another way, too._

_The sensation of soft lips delicately brushing the tip of each tapered finger, drawing it into a mouth filled with hot, wet velvet was shiveringly real and intense. The slick glide of Tsuzuki's tongue as it curled lovingly around each digit. . .Hisoka swallowed hard, his body unconsciously swaying to the rhythm of those licking strokes. Tsuzuki hadn't yet laid a hand on him, and he could already feel his sensitized muscles clenching in anticipation. _

_But two could play at this game. . .Relaxing slowly as forgetfulness stole across his mind, Hisoka turned slightly, looking back over his shoulder at his life partner. Slowly fluttering open the long lashes that cloaked his eyes, because he just knew what an effect the sight of brilliant sunlight sifting through verdant forest green had on the older man. The slow melting that Hisoka had sensed from him before turned into a torrent of need, and the boy laughed, low and wicked, when solid arms wrapped around him. Slim arms, with lean, rangy muscle clothed in soft skin. Not the mature bulk of adulthood._

_Confused, Hisoka sent a questing tendril of thought out to taste the dreaming auras, and it was engulfed in eager warmth._

**_What the hell--? _**_Startled, the small Shinigami pulled back. Telepath as well as empath, Hisoka recognized the signature of the mind meshing with his, and **knew** that it was not his husband's. Pursuing, the quick-silver ripples giggled and danced: a shimmer of amusement, and easy pleasure in pretty things and chocolate. There was none of the deep violet sorrow that always tinted Tsuzuki, but rather a dangerous flash of white, barely seen before it flickered away, a Pied Piper of madness that lurked always just out of reach._

_Panicking, Hisoka thrashed wildly and tried to escape. Thick nets of memory and sensation grabbed at him, teasing his already aroused body, attempting to suck him deeper into the prescient dream. But a final, desperate twist and he eluded them, fleeing, gasping, back to the conscious world._

Urgh. What a dream. . .Hisoka scrubbed at his face and wriggled onto his back. Which was maybe not the best idea he had ever had, come to think of it. The movement rubbed him against the bedclothes. Parts of his body were extremely well aware of every variety of sensation – textures and temperatures especially - and that awareness was getting pretty uncomfortable.

He flicked a glance across the sunny room, eyes drawn unerringly to where Tsuzuki slouched, soundly asleep, in a comfortably battered, old, wing-backed chair. Considering the chair's intricate pattern of Gryffindor red and gold paisley on a dark blue ground, Hiskoka concluded that it had to be a refugee from the Head Master's office. Desperate to ignore the demands of his body, he focused on counting the curved teardrop shapes, on estimating how many there might be that he couldn't actually see. . . Anything, just so only as it wasn't Tsuzuki. Or – damn it all to the lowest of the Hells – Kyo. He didn't want to think about his husband, didn't want to think about the older boy, didn't want to think about _wanting_, for Enma's sake! He turned his gaze to the canopy over head, but the draping lines of the red fabric blurred as his eyes filled with tears. There was no way Tsuzuki was going to forgive him once he found out about Kyo.

An errant thought whispered, _he doesn't have to know. . . just don't say anything._ But it would never work. They needed to get Kyo free of that nasty thing that had worked its way into his body. And that would mean telling at least Dumbledore precisely what it was, and how it had come to be made. Which, in turn, meant confessing his own part in gathering its ingredients. The dribble of tears escaping from his eyes to run down the sides of his face had turned into a flood, and Hisoka sniffled loudly. Lucius might have gotten interrupted before getting around to actually raping him, he reflected, but the situation had still left him thoroughly screwed. And it was all his own damned fault.

_And let's not forget to add to that the charge of murder,_ he thought. Because killing mortals whose time had not come was definitely murder, no matter if a Shinigami _was_ permitted to act in self-defense. Grimly, the empath closed his ears to the remembered death agony of each one of Voldemort's deluded followers, shoving it away before it could erode what was left of his questionable sanity.

_Not now._

The edge of the mattress dipped alarmingly as Tsuzuki sat down on it. His knuckles brushed lightly at the tear trails on the boy's temples, but he avoided gathering the slight form into a hug. After thirty years, the elder Shinigami had learned that sometimes touching was _not_ a good idea, and he suspected that this was one of them. The boy was shielding both emotions and thoughts so hard that there was a Hisoka shaped void to the room's psychic atmosphere. Yet at the same time, he couldn't just let the matter go. Tsuzuki dredged up his most engaging grin and said quietly, "Knut for your thoughts?"

The boy snorted, and tried to roll away. With his partner pinning down a major share of the covers on one side, and now leaning across him to plant a hand on the other, getting away proved to be impossible. He had to settle for snarling weakly, "Leave me the fuck alone, would you?"

"Nope. You're going to have to talk to me about what happened to you, and it might as well be now. So, come on. . ." cajoled Tsuzuki. He was using the exact same tone that he normally employed for finding out where the younger of the pair had hidden the treats in the kitchen, or where they were going for a vacation. . .It had a hint of puppy-ish licking layered over top of a sexy 'I know you want to' that always made Hisoka melt into a malleable puddle of goo. But not this time.

Unbidden, an image of Kyo's orgasmic surprise popped into Hisoka's head, and it was all he could do to not slam the vision into his husband's unsuspecting face. Damn it, he had _felt_ every spasm of the other boy in his mouth, both as a tactile and a psychic climax. And even now, at the remove of several days, the combination made his insides squirm and clench. Hisoka was completely sure that all it would take was closing his fist – once – around his aching self. He was that close to the edge, and it made his stomach want to heave in self-defense. His cry of "Get off me!" was undeniably hysterical, and really, he ought to have predicted his husband's immediate reaction: Tsuzuki pulled him into a hug and broke the dam holding back everything.

The pain shattered into a liquid mesh of too intense sensation. Kyo's trembling thrusts slipping on the rings of muscle and cartilage at the back of his throat tangled with the memory of Tsuzuki, holding him from behind with an arm looped tightly around his middle. Pain, so bright that it blinded, mingled burning white and emerald green of curse and pure, god-bestowed benediction as blade and _Avada Kedavra _clashed. His partner shuddered and thrust in deeper, seeking out and finding blindly the sweet hiding place inside him. A Death Eater's mind shattered under the thrust of Hisoka's sword. The combination sent swells of ecstasy and revulsion flooding over Hisoka's willowy figure, and he shrieked; the one startled sound all that his shaking body was capable of, caught between agony and intoxicated delirium. Fierce intensity tore at him, laughing blue eyes that were suddenly defenseless and wide as the heat raced along his spine and exploded, leaving every hair on the backs of his arms and the nape of his neck rigidly at attention.

It was Kyo's name that he screamed soundlessly as he collapsed.

* * *

"_Nani_. . .?" Stunned, breathless, Tsuzuki weakly asked the question without attempting to move from the floor. He, Hisoka, and most of the bed's covers had landed in a heap. _What in the name of the seven hells had just happened. . .?_ A soft moan let him find the boy in the tangled mess, and he resolutely pushed aside his confusion and set to work getting everything back onto the bed in some semblance of order. Not too surprisingly, the front of Hisoka's pajamas were a sticky mess, and Tsuzuki shook his head ruefully. He fetched a wash cloth and a basin of water, and murmured the warming charm that he had been so delighted to learn. Well, better to strip him and get him cleaned up now, while he was barely conscious and his sharp tongue incoherent, than to wait and face a young man who was embarrassed on top of everything else. And besides, he rarely got to just _enjoy_ the translucent perfection of his lover's pale skin. Poor 'Soka-chan still hated to be caught naked and vulnerable, no matter how hard Tsuzuki insisted that he was beautiful.

But the dream, or whatever it was that he had startled the other out of, that was weird. There had been three people in the jumble of images, and Tsuzuki was fairly sure. . .no, make that _absolutely_ sure, that the boyishly slim figure with the messy black hair and warm eyes had to have been Kyo. It couldn't have been Harry, could it? No. The wide eyes had definitely been blue. And, that was another thing; after so many years, the tall Shinigami was sure that he could tell the difference between memory and fantasy. Just what in the names of the thousand gods had the Dark Lord done to them?

* * *

Eyes were staring back at him.

Large, round, bulbous, slitted, shredded, smushed, small, huge, yellow, green, blue, purple, pupil-less. More than he was capable of describing and they all stared back at him from their homes of sparkling clean glass jars, stoppered and fussily labelled, the script flowing and cursive - a trademark of wizardy, as he had come to learn.

Pretty to look at, all this B.E. - Before Electricity - calligraphy, but murder to read. At least, for the newly initiated. Flitwick had tried to teach him the basics, but he had cheerfully handed in his work for the diminutive professor on good, reliable, white, lined paper and solid blue ink of a trusty ball-point pen time and time again. Hisoka had mastered the illustrative script like he was born to it though.

And the mere thought of the scowling, blond empath made his breath hitch.

He knew the Shinigami well. As well as more than thirty years of friendship could and no doubt, the small, forever young empath was still blaming himself for what had transpired in a room of ice, fire, shadows and blood.

_Newt eyes_, read one yellow label. Eye of newt and toe of frog.

"Are you _quite _done, Mr. Shiozaki?"

Ah, no one could do snark and sarcasm quite like Severus Snape. Kyo quirked his lips in a half-smile, not seeing his reflection on the clean, clean jars that showed dark, turquoise irises, a shade he'd never thought to last as long as it did. He was Shinigami after all. Dead. Blessed with a body that could heal mortal wounds as easily as a papercut but not, apparently, curses by a Dark Lord.

"Done with what?" he asked, to all intents and purposes avidly studying said newts.

"I don't appreciate fools, Mr. Shiozaki." A pause. "Or deliberate obtuseness. Kindly desist from molesting potion ingredients and state your reasons for intruding on my grading time."

He finally turned, gracing the professor with that same half-smile. "Kyo, please. Or at least, drop the 'Mr.' bit. I feel old when people use that." Crossing the Potions Master's office, the young Shinigami seated himself carefully in a hard wooden chair opposite the professor's desk. He winced inwardly; even the slightest bump brought the ache - an ache of the unwelcome kind - flaring to life. Takashi ought to be told. Husband or not, the man was still the Shokan's resident physician, Watari having cheerfully given up that position when his _koi _was deemed to have enough experience as a Shinigami.

But. . .not yet.

Not when a quavering voice at the back of his head was running around in raggedy circles, trying to convince itself that nothing bad had ever happened.

Yeah. And Tatsumi would give Tsuzuki a raise.

The professor snorted inelegantly, long, clever fingers curled around a glossy black quill. Raven, the leftover aura told Kyo; tatty shimmers like the gossamer silk of an old crone, hard-used and ancient. It had to be a favourite, Kyo mused to himself; to judge by the color and look, it was well-cared for.

"Hardly a candidate for senility, Shiozaki," Snape sneered lightly, lank black hair falling forward to obscure one glittering eye. He tossed his head in impatience, obviously an unconscious gesture, and it revealed a shapely, high cheekbone. Cheekbones a woman would kill for, and that thought made Kyo snicker – oh, to tease poor Harry with the revelation that his hated Potions Master was actually rather attractive under the snark and sneer—!

He had understood Harry's dislike, even hatred at times, of the Potions Master. Hard not to when you had proof sneering in your face twice a week. But Kyo was old enough to wisely place himself outside of the ongoing enmity between man and child, preferring to let Harry fight his own battles, and that had afforded him the opportunity to enjoy the man's biting sarcasm. Really, no one could deliver such cutting satire as Severus Snape; an art form, when the man was at his best and emotion and the inability to let go of the past did not cloud his mind. And coupled with this new discovery. . .

"And what exactly is so amusing?"

Kyo pursed his lips thoughtfully, slouching back in his chair and crossing his legs neatly at the ankles. "Not so much as amusing as it is. . scintillating," he offered solemnly. "You're really very pleasing to the eye, professor. Why hide it?"

Ah, that faint dash of color across those cheekbones was just what the man needed. Really, the so-called bat of the dungeons needed to get out more, put a healthy glow to that paper-pale skin. But then, the professor was already quite eye-catching as he was. . .maybe he ought to do something about the hair at least? That just _couldn't _be natural, not even in the wizarding world.

Frostily, the professor snapped back, "I fail to see what my appearance has to do with your inability to get to the point, _Mister_ Shiozaki? Now, unless you have something productive to add to the conversation, I suggest that you - as the Muggles so quaintly put it - _take a hike!"_

Startled, Kyo blinked. Tch, he got it now. When one was off-balance, the best defense was an attack. He smiled serenely. "I thought that was the point, Professor. You're very good at seeming to be something that you're not. . ." His smile faltered. "Like your friend, in the Dark Lord's service."

Snape leaned back in his chair, dark eyes gone flat and unreadable. "I see. Your message."

His own mood likewise dampened, Kyo sat up straight, running his hands agitatedly through already mussed hair. "Taka said you got it. . .that I mentioned it when they. . .found me."

"Indeed, if that was all that he said. . .?" The question hung in the air, laced with something dark and unidentifiable. The Shinigami had been unaware of the existence of another spy in Voldemort's ranks besides Snape, though, of course, that matter had been cleared up. It was sadly too obvious what his 'friend' had meant by his little message.

_The Master knows._

Kyo shook his head faintly. "That was it, I'm sure. But Hisoka is the one you should ask - I was pretty out of it for most of their conversation."

And he wondered; just how far did those bonds of friendship go, that Snape could feel despair to such a degree that it even shone through the usual, impenetrable mask he wore daily?

"I see. . " Snape said, voice quiet. Neither spoke for a long moment; Kyo wrestling with a sudden headache and Snape, oddly intent on the blank, green and silver blotter on his desk. Despite his earlier grumbles of lost grading time, Kyo failed to spot any parchment on the clutter-free surface that indicated student work. Normally, Kyo would have felt obliged to point out the lie the other man was caught in (the young Shinigami lived for these moments after all), but couldn't quite work up the enthusiasm to. Not when a merry band of giants had decided to play rugby inside his head.

Kyo rubbed his temples wearily. Coupled with the incessant ache battering his body _everywhere_, yet centered frighteningly on that spot below his navel, the headache ensured a rather unhappy Shinigami. So he didn't realize the professor had moved till a pair of shiny, pointy black boots entered his field of vision.

"Drink." The command was followed by a small bottle filled with a light green liquid that fizzed happily away inside. Kyo blanched, remembering the less than pleasant sensation of the last time he was forced to drink a potion but the man was insistent.

"Cease your foolishness and _drink_, boy!"

It was the 'boy' that did it. Scowling up at the dour professor who leaned back against his desk, arms crossed and a faint sneer on his face, Kyo downed the potion in one go, grimacing as the effervescent bubbles tickled the back of his throat. Empty bottle in hand, Kyo waited expectantly. Snape was a Master after all; any brew of his was sure to be potent and lethally effective. Yet the seconds ticked by and that relentless hammering turning his brain into so much gooey mush failed to cease.

"It's not working," he announced, and was met by a flinty gaze that was alarmingly calculative.

"That was one of the more potent draughts for headaches, Shiozaki," he was informed quietly. Uneasy, he offered the bottle back to the professor who took it absently, fingers running all over the glass, restless. "A variation from the standard Amalia's; it vanishes migraines as well."

Snape set the potion bottle aside, never once taking his eyes away from Kyo who bore that heavy scrutiny awkwardly, easing back from that relentless study in his uncomfortable seat. With efficient movements, Snape flicked his heavy robes aside, revealing long legs encased in smooth cotton and knee-high leather. Legs that blocked any attempts to escape the chair Kyo sat in, unyielding arms on either side, trapping him in between.

"Tell me, Shiozaki," Snape said, still in that deceptively soft voice as he leaned down till he was face to face with Kyo, onyx meeting sapphire blue. "Tell me why a headache potion stronger than an Amalia cannot cure you of your apparent discomfort. Tell me why I sense. . .darkness within you. Tell me why your eyes are such a beguiling shade now, and tell me. . .why are you here?"

Scowling, Kyo was the one who broke off the staring match, hands clenched.

"I didn't ask for the third degree," he said angrily to the door, refusing to face Snape again. "I didn't _come _here for the third degree."

Snape was just as quick to point out, "Then why are you here, Shiozaki?"

He flushed, wincing as his headache spiked and ebbed. Still trapped in his cage of wood, arms, legs and robe, Kyo could not run and ignore when common sense said he ought not to. Could not pretend that the last forty-eight hours never happened.

A sigh. "I daresay I'm becoming soft." Kyo whipped his head around in disbelief, meeting that faint smirk on the professor's face. "I'll let you off the hook this time, Shiozaki, since the Headmaster had seen fit to call ahead and warn me of your visit."

Kyo was proud of the fact that he managed to resist the temptation to stick his tongue out at the man.

"Why bother going all scary on me then, if you already know why I'm here," Kyo grumbled underneath his breath, arms crossed.

He was rewarded with a light tap on his forehead.

"Because, Shiozaki," the Potions Master drawled, "I cannot help someone who obviously does not want _any _in the first place."

He shifted uncomfortably at that. It wasn't that he didn't _want_ to be helped. Enma knew the thought of having that. . .that _thing _inside of him was enough to make him run screaming like a little girl into the night. Just the mere mention of their captivity had him shuddering as though someone had just walked across his grave.

He snorted. Across his grave. . .highly likely, that. Considering that he _was _dead and actually _had _a grave. . . .

And would those Death Eaters he had killed get their own? Would the one he murdered through his own natural magic - stuffed like a turkey for Christmas with animated earth and mud, and baked to crisp, brown perfection - have his own nice little plot somewhere with a headstone? Maybe one that said, 'Here lies etc. etc. etc. He was a good Death Eater'?

"He took semen."

That rather abrupt announcement produced no visible effect save a harshly drawn breath - Snape tensed marginally and (did he imagined it?) phantom-light fingers brushed his hair before the professor drew away, going behind his desk and sitting himself down carefully, arranging his robes with misleading care.

Kyo was somehow grateful for the nonchalance. It made the retelling less personal. As though he was telling a story, rather than something that was a sure to have a starring role in his nightmares for at least the next five years. It was right up there with Akuma, damn it.

"Just semen, Shiozaki?" That question was asked softly.

He nodded jerkily.

A delicate pause and then, "Willingly given or. . .?"

Too thin shoulders hunched within the boy's white shirt and he regretted not wearing his school robes. The chilly air was almost painful now that he was no longer manipulating his surroundings with magic. Or maybe it was something inside of him that was cold; it was getting hard to tell. "They used Hisoka on me -" Stubbornly, Kyo clenched his jaw, refusing to say anything more but he risked a glance at Snape.

The man was leaning back in his seat, opaque eyes again studying him with an intensity that raked shivers down his spine. Snape had not shown any reaction to his confession save for just the slightest twitch at the corner of his eyes as he rubbed the point of his chin meditatively. Distracted, Kyo's attention wandered to that white, long fingered hand. There was an odd, blue-black stain on the index finger, and he couldn't tell if it was ink or due to a potion. The hand restlessly dropped to the blotter on his desk and began toying with that same raven quill, in the process looking more like a pale, intelligent spider than a human appendage. The image was making him feel a little sick.

"Shiozaki?" The potion master's voice was curiously gentle. The boy gave no sign that he had heard. He tried again. "Kyo? Just why did he take semen from you? Did he say?"

"_He _didn't exactly say it outright. . ." Kyo hesitated, eyes skittering sideways. He just couldn't seem to hold the man's gaze. "But Malfoy--"

"Malfoy?" He was cut off abruptly. Snape leaned forwards, raven quill almost snapping in two in the force of his suddenly tight grip. "_Lucius _Malfoy?"

"Ah, Hisoka hasn't told you of that?" Kyo smiled weakly.

The Potions Master gifted him with dark glare that could wither a mandrake at ten paces. "Your partner and his have been most effective in ensuring that no one, not even the Headmaster, could talk to, much less treat either of you this past two days. We know nothing save your own disjointed ramblings, Shiozaki! Not even the fact that somehow, despite supposed current incarceration in Azkaban, Lucius Malfoy is now back at the Dark Lord's side!"

He flinched. He couldn't help it. He hated it when people raised their voices. The charged emotion bled into the air, agitating the already volatile element and on normal days, if he wasn't careful, he could and had gotten headaches from a simple fight over the coffeemaker in the staffroom. He didn't need the sudden escalation of his headache into a full blown migraine to tell him that yes, whatever sick shit Voldemort had put him through, it had screwed him up in ways he was still unsure and frankly, frightened of.

"Don't. . .yell," he said through gritted teeth, cradling his head as he fumbled in the pockets of his slacks. His hand closed around slick plastic. Dear, kind, loving and attentive Takashi had always made sure he had a stash of Baserol on hand, for times when he needed quick relief from magic use stress. Even three months in the wizarding world hadn't dulled the habit - hard, when you had a routine set over thirty years. Limbs already trembling, he nearly dropped the small, blue caplets as he ignored safety precautions and took three whole pills instead of the usual two. He gulped them down dry, taking the glass of water that appeared in front of him with a grateful nod to the professor.

"Muggle medicine?"

"Yeah, doctor's prescription," he managed a small smile. Any larger and he feared his face would crack and he'd crumble into dust. Enma, how he hated getting migraines! Now, if only the muscle relaxants could take effect like, oh, say, immediately?Snape nodded, again playing idly with the raven quill. The quill tapped sharply on the desk and twirled between Snape's agile fingers. Kyo was beginning to think that the quill was a better barometer for the man's mental weather than his mellow voice or guarded features. For example, just now his face wore a faintly mocking, even bored expression.

"Whatever it was the Dark Lord had put you through, it seems to have ensured that the usual magical remedies are rendered useless, or at least, ineffective on you. I suppose Muggle medicine has it uses at times." Kyo acknowledged the rather condescending praise with a roll of his eyes and instantly regretted it. Stupid Kyo! Not when the meds haven't worked yet!

"So the symptoms are as such - there's an obvious dark taint inside of you, Shiozaki, more so than usual I'd say." Kyo managed to contain his twitch of surprise. Snape could sense their non-human nature? Or at least, feel enough that it had made for a rather negative impression on the professor. No wonders then, as to why the wizard was so hostile the first time they met, bar the man's usual. . . forbidding personality. "Add the obvious signs of stress, magical core disruption and. . what do I have, Shiozaki?"

"He. . ." Kyo swallowed, throat suddenly dry and raspy. "Malfoy said - yes, I'm sure it's him -" he forestalled the professor's doubts, "Malfoy asked whether it was possible to create the _Quin. . Quinta Essentia,_" he said the indubitably Latin words slowly. He could really learn to hate that language now. "Vol-sorry, the Dark Lord said that it could be done if it was affixed to the soul of the Vessel."

"Of?" Snape asked sharply.

His lips tightened into a thin white line. "The Vessel of the Four Elements."

"Vessel of the Four. . ." Snape trailed off, a frown creasing his forehead. "Why the Four Elements? It's not possible to create a Vessel for such raw forces without sacrificing.. ." Kyo was rewarded for his troubles by the unusual sight of the Potions Master, the feared Severus Snape, caught flabbergasted. "_You're _the Vessel?"

Kyo blinked. "I better be, considering the hell they put me through," he replied glibly.

"Impossible!" Snape exploded, throwing down his quill and sending the feather skittering across the bare surface of his desk. "No one can control the elements, much less all four of them! There hasn't been an Elemental Mage in centuries!"

"Malfoy said that as well," Kyo said helpfully. The migraine finally receding under the pleasant numbing sensation of the relaxants allowed him to enjoy the usually dour professor's agitation and he fully intended on maximising the rare opportunity. "But I think the mirror convinced them."

"What mirror?" he was asked wearily.

"Alatheia's, I think is what they called it."

"Oh, Morgana's damned bastards."

"You wizards make it sound so awe-inspiring, that I can control four elements," Kyo began comfortably. That niggling little voice he called his conscience was snidely pointing out his show of helpfulness as nothing but that – a show. He was delaying the inevitable but damned if he was going to listen to his conscience now. "I mean, it's just four."

Snape blinked, looking quite perplexed before his face fell into the usual disdainful lines. "_Just _four, Shiozaki? A wizard would kill his own mother to master one, let alone four! And what other elements could there possibly be?"

Ah," Kyo nodded. "Forgot the West doesn't apply the principles of _feng shui_. There's several school of thoughts on that – some insist on five, or four, others even say thirteen."

"Do tell," the professor sneered lightly.

"One school includes gold as an element. Wood as well." He shrugged. "Ever tried going against someone who controls lightning? Not fun, I tell you."

"So you're saying there's no conclusive or hard and fast rule as to what constitutes an element that can be mastered?" The sneer had dropped, leaving behind scholarly intrigue and Kyo couldn't help but pause to appreciate it. Loyal as a Shepard dog to Takashi, Kyo, and his husband as well, nevertheless could not deny attraction when it hit them and Enma, Snape really _was _attractive.

Oh, Harry would _kill _him for this.

"No," he said easily. "Though all of them agree that air, earth, fire and water form the basic four – the elements of life is you will."

"And what do _you _control?"

He blinked. "Ah. . .earth, fire, water and air in its primal and various forms."

The silence following his modest little announcement didn't sit well on Kyo's nerves. He tried to alleviate it, saying, "I'm really bad with fire though. My fine control over it isn't as good as over earth or water. And air is always such a hassle to control. One little slip and damn, the migraines. . .whew."

He waited.

"Ah. . .professor?"

"I'm trying to decide whether you're a godsend or a curse," Snape answered in a flat voice.

"I thought wizards don't believe in god?" he asked brightly.

"Semantics," Snape waved the philosophical quagmire away. "What's more important in the here and now, Shiozaki," he continued sharply, "Is that you happen to be an Elemental Mage who has been cursed by the Dark Lord. The repercussions are, frankly, unnerving."

And again he was brought crashing down to earth with the reminder of that _thing _inside of him, doing Enma knows what to his body and magic.

Oh, no.

_Enma-sama. _

His insides roiled uneasily as he realized that Takashi, as this mission's leader, would have to report back to Enma and the Shokan (and ultimately, Tatsumi), that one of their Shinigami had been compromised. A Shinigami taken captive was one thing. A Shinigami cursed was a whole 'nother cabinet full of paperwork and hearings to go through.

He groaned. The hearings! He could just imagine the glee the Shiroku would show on having a Shinigami on trial.

"Shiozaki?"

"Nothing," he shook his head. "So," he licked dry, bloodless lips. "Rumors say you're the best wizard to ask about the Dark Arts around here. . .how can I. . .get cured?"

"It depends on how accurate the information is that you can give me concerning the ritual, Shiozaki," Snape said matter-of-factly. "I'd have to know the exact details of the construct used, the incantations, the time of the ritual, the ingredients. . . ." Snape hesitated, before continuing in a curiously gentle voice. "Can you give me that, Kyo? Dumbledore made it known to me that he had offered this to you earlier," the professor said softly, gently. The low cadence, caressing his ears, belied the implications of the man's request. "A Pensieve is our best option, Kyo." Where had the 'Shiozaki' gone to? "We can't afford to gamble when it comes to Dark curses."

He closed his eyes, swallowing the too-painful lump in his throat. Tell Snape everything that happened? _Show _Snape everything that happened? When even his own husband hadn't been told anything beyond the bare facts?

Jerkily, he nodded, once. "Alright," he answered, voice raspy with apprehension. "Alright, I'll do it." He met Snape's dark, emphatic eyes. "I'll use the goddamn thing. But, only if Hisoka allows it as well." He broke the contact, blinking back the sudden stinging in his eyes. "It's the least I can offer him."

* * *

Hisoka was relieved to wake up curled on top of the covers and to find that he now had on his own blue jeans and a comfortable, long sleeved white dress shirt. There was still the same red canopy overhead, and the paisley chair still stood near the windows. But the bright sunlight of earlier had given way to long, cool shadows that half concealed a desk, chest of drawers, and small side table that made up the rest of the room's furnishings. The sound of running water drew his attention to a narrow door in time to see it open and admit Tsuzuki. The older Shinigami dropped the damp towel that he had been wiping his hands on and hurried over.

"Hey. . .you're awake." Pleasure and warm concern washed over the smaller blond, and Hisoka bit his lip to keep from crying as his husband continued, "How are you feeling?"

"Tsuzuki. I have something I have to tell you." His voice sounded harsh in his own ears, and he resolutely looked away from the sight of his handsome partner. Something about that tall form with its broad shoulders and trim waist always made his resolve crack, and just then he couldn't afford it. Hisoka rolled off the far side of the bed and began pacing restlessly. He had never been to Tsuzuki's room at Hogwarts before, but the novelty of it failed to distract him. He hardly saw any of the personal touches that made it uniquely his partner's; the battered slippers peeping from under the edge of the bed, or Tsuzuki's glasses lying abandoned on the desk's blotter. He didn't see a thing until he came nose to breast bone with the man. Hisoka forced himself to look up, past the two unfastened buttons of his shirt and the line of tendons that held Tsuzuki's head tilted at that inquisitive angle, up to his gentle eyes. "Tsuzuki, I. . .while we were. . ." His voice faltered and died, miserably. "I made love to Kyo while we were prisoners. I am so sorry."

"Oh." Soft violet eyes held his gaze steadily, then blinked. "You had your reasons, I know. So it's okay. Is that what you've been scared of?"

"Me? Scared? Don't you. . .hate me for cheating on you?" Hisoka choked out. They were standing so close together that he could see the faint shimmy of Tsuzuki's trembling. He focused on the thin edge of shadow cast by the man's open collar against the skin of his throat. . .anything to avoid his sad eyes.

"How could I hate you, 'Soka? You were kidnapped and tortured... If anything, I hate myself for not being there to protect you. I'm glad you had Kyo with you. I just hope it doesn't affect your friendship with _him_, because I know how much that means to you." At the quiet anguish in the words, Hisoka wrenched his eyes back up to the taller man's face. He was so damned beautiful. . .thick, shiny chestnut hair that perpetually looked as if it needed a trim, the clearly defined curve of cheekbones and jaw, and those expressive, too human eyes. He had a wild urge to push the man away, to hurt him.

"Don't you want to know what I did? They had Kyo tied up and I- I- " Damn it, he want to say _I gave him a blow job_, but Kyo was right – he never could get the crude words out. He settled for a milder euphemism. "I sucked him off while Voldemort and Malfoy watched, and I _used_ my powers as an empath to make sure that he came."

"Oh." Bewildered, Tsuzuki repeated the little word. Then he visibly shook himself. "If they forced you- "

"Argh!" Hisoka threw his arms wide in frustration and spun half way about. Tsuzuki jumped back to avoid being hit. "See? That's the problem! They forced me, but I enjoyed it. I wanted to see him looking at me like that, wanted him to want _me_. . .I wanted him helpless!" His anxious voice had risen to a shout, but then his shoulders sagged in defeat and he continued in a hoarse whisper. "Don't you see? I- I'm no better than Muraki."

By some god's blessing, the boy was studying his bare feet, too mortified by his confession to face his lover. It meant that he missed Tsuzuki's sudden, violent start. At the hated name, the warm smile on the older man's face slipped, momentarily laying bare a powerful maelstrom of revulsion and hatred. The ghost that Hisoka was conjuring had nearly destroyed them both – and several of their friends as well – too many times to be forgiven or forgotten. "No!" Tsuzuki growled, his vehemence surprising himself as well as the younger Shinigami. Hisoka's head jerked up, apprehension stripping the defenses from him, leaving him wide-eyed and frightened. He half expected to find that Tsuzuki had closed the distance between them, but the tall man was rigid, rooted to one spot. "No," he repeated. "This is all my fault. I'm always trying too hard to protect you, to keep anything from hurting you when we're together. I- I can handle you being strong when we're out _there_. You're the most courageous and determined person I've ever met. But in _here_, between us, I'm always the one in control. It's natural that you would want to try be that way, too. And that does _not_ make you a. . .a 'Muraki.'"

An over-abundance of embarrassment from the compliment and the suggestions about their sexual habits turned Hisoka's neck and face a hot scarlet. He could have sworn that the blush probably extended all the way to his navel, but he didn't want to risk looking. "What are you saying!" he snapped back. "I start things! It's not like I wait around for you to get all. . ._snuggly,_ or anything."

"No?" Tsuzuki's eloquent eyebrows shot up to his messy bangs. Ordinarily, Hisoka would just have swatted him for his expression of disbelief, but the man was continuing with an infuriating logic that made him cringe to the tips of his toes. "You may start things, but I'm generally the one who finishes them."

Sucking in a gasping breath, the boy squeezed his eyes firmly closed. If this were a normal argument, he would have followed the swat up by storming out, slamming the door behind him hard enough to rattle tea cups half a block away. And then, when he had finally walked off his temper and returned home, Tsuzuki would be waiting. Maybe with candles lit in a darkened room, or with dinner from their favorite take out place in Chijou. And he would make slow, deliberate love to the boy, melting away the last of his anger. Damn him, Tsuzuki was right. He _was_ a good, passive little _uke_, after all. He choked on a miserable laugh. "How can it all be your fault? I'm the one who's pathetic."

"'Soka-chan, there's nothing wrong with the way you are. Or with wanting to try something new," Tsusuki pointed out gently.

"Sure. Tell that to Kyo and Taka, why don't you?" Self-loathing made his tone bitterer than normal, and even Hisoka winced at how it came out.

"No," Tsuzuki said simply. The senior Shinigami backed slowly away, the oddest expression firmly in place on his too pale features. The edge of the bed bumped the backs of his thighs. "I want you to show me." Despite, or maybe because of Hisoka's confused morning arousal and the unfortunate demise of the chocolate colored pajamas,Tsuzuki was receiving way too many conflicting signals from the boy. It wasn't likeHisoka to project so intensely and physically. Instinct told Tsuzuki that the longer he waited, and the more they discussed, the more difficult it was becoming for Hisoka. Drawing his legs up, he slid farther onto the bed, rumpling the red bedspread that matched the bed's canopy and hangings. He smoothed a nervous hand over the soft fabric, then resolutely drew his wand from his pocket. "_Ligare_."

Nothing happened, and he had to choke on a laugh. "_Evincio!_" This time, thin cords, more like growing vines viewed at twenty times their natural rate, sped from his ankles to the bedposts. He leaned back against his pillows, swallowed audibly, and repeated the spell in a small whisper. "_Evincio_." The ropes snaked from his wrists and drew taut, immobilizing him.

The wand rolled from his lax fingers, struck the floor, bounced, and disappeared beneath the bed. "Oops," he said softly. "I've lost my wand. . ."

Hisoka opened his mouth to say something along the lines of _Well, duh. You dropped it, you idiot,_ when his eyes were arrested by those of his partner. They were huge, fearful violet – the color of dusk turning to night, as the irises thinned and drowned before his expanding pupils. In that instant, Hisoka remembered that his partner had a very real terror of restraints, dating back to his life as a mortal man when he had been institutionalized for repeated suicide attempts. Later encounters with Muraki meant that Death had intensified rather than eased his fears. It didn't matter than he could escape by the simple expedient of shifting to another plane, for symbolically the man was utterly at the smaller boy's mercy. The frightening part was, it was a terribly compelling sight. Hisoka licked suddenly dry lips and took a tiny step closer. He could see the pulse leaping erratically in the hollow of Tsuzuki's throat and he wanted desperately to set his teeth to that vulnerable spot and see what it tasted like.

Stunned, Hisoka opened his mouth, half intending to give voice to his usual, scornful insults, but nothing came out. After so long, nothing Tsuzuki did ought to surprise him, yet the older man had succeeded in flooring him. That his husband was uncomfortable was apparent from the faint sheen of perspiration across his forehead and the bridge of his nose. Yet, the violet eyes were determined, as was the firm set to the man's generous mouth. Tsuzuki tended toward passivity, and would allow melancholia and despair to pull him under; he would not fight for himself and deemed his life to be worthless, a state of mind that had led him to end his mortal life through suicide in an institution. But for someone else's sake, he would fight tooth and nail. Obviously, whatever he had in mind was important enough to force him into action, and that alone gave Hisoka pause.

The sound of the bedsprings creaking beneath his weight did a good job of calling the slender blond back to reality. This was his husband, for Enma's sake! What was he _doing_, climbing onto the foot of the bed and then slowly crawling up the man's length? He paused beside Tsuzuki's knees, delicately settling his weight back onto his calves as he knelt, close enough to touch but not quite in contact. The fine black fabric of Tsuzuki's dress pants was pulled awry, the knife-edge crease that ought to have followed the line of his shin twisted crooked to the side, the cloth molding itself to the trim line of his thigh and knee. Under the weight of his gaze, a muscle twitched, sending a long ripple down that bound limb. Fascinated, Hisoka reached out, first lightly grazing the smooth surface of the lightweight black wool, then settling his hand more firmly, following the contours of the leg inside the cloth. His palm and fingers curved perfectly to fit just above Tsuzuki's knee, snug against muscular flesh. It spasmed beneath his hand, and a tiny smile tilted up the corners of his mouth, like a cat suddenly discovering that a toy was actually alive. He glanced up toward the head of the bed, catching the man staring at him. Enma help him, but the mix of apprehension and arousal on Tsuzuki's face felt _good._

Being trapped eternally in a teenaged body had its disadvantages. The gods knew it made him crazy that his voice was _never_ going to stop cracking unexpectedly. But the stamina and drive of youth were two items that came down firmly on the plus side of the ledger. Hisoka could just feel the prickly heat of hormonally induced lust crawling down his spine, and knew that his companion was getting more than a little of the backwash. It brought a warm flush of color to both their faces, and Hisoka hastily went back to his examination of his own hand, and the trapped leg beneath it. He wanted so much, just then, but he had only the vaguest idea how to go about getting it. The situation made him want to cry. He drew in a shaky breath. "Tsuzuki, when do we have to go see the Headmaster?"

"Eh?" Stunned, the man stared at him. Hisoka fought down a wry twitch to his lips. Obviously, this was not the best time to try to hold a conversation with the other Shinigami. Finally, Tsuzuki blinked and stammered huskily, "T- tomorrow. I, ah, sent a message to him. . ." Tsuzuki swallowed hard and managed a near-normal tone. "I sent a message to him while you were sleeping. It was that, or they were going to drag you off to the hospital wing."

"Oh," Hisoka replied softly. His restless fingers stilled and he simply stared at the older man in the slowly growing gloom. The air beyond the window glass had taken on the clear shade of Tsuzuki's eyes in earnest, and it tinted the light within the quiet room. No one would miss them for hours. . .and for the first time in his immortal existence, Hisoka had the one person that he loved above all others tied to a bed. Unexpectedly, the sheer preciousness of the opportunity made him laugh, drawing out a low sound that bubbled over until he had a sharp pain in his side, exactly like what he tended to get from running. In a quick movement, he scrambled from the bed and headed for the open door to the adjoining bath.

"Uh, 'Soka-chan. . .I could use a little help here?" Tsuzuki's plaintive cry was cut off as the boy firmly closed the door. Hisoka ignored him.

One of the nice things about the older Shinigami was that he was a creature of set habits. He liked to keep his shaving kit close to hand since he was never the most coherent in the morning, and sure enough, there was the brown leather bag on the shelf over the sink. Hisoka pulled it down and began rummaging through the accumulation of toiletries. He found the bottle of massage oil immediately, and a smaller tube of odorless lubricating gel a moment later. The discovery of his own spare toothbrush almost made him want to cry again; it was so typical of his husband to pack it with his own things, just in case. But then his hand struck a hard oblong at the bottom of the kit, and he froze. He didn't want to draw it out, to confirm his suspicions. What would be the point? His fingers knew the shape of the folded straight razor. No matter that he had managed to wean Tsuzuki over to using a safety razor, the man had learned to shave the old fashioned way, and a creature of habit in that way, too, the deadly strip of steel remained in his bag. A panicky thought crossed Hisoka's mind. Ought he to hide it? It had been years since Tsuzuki had ripped at his flesh to the point that his regenerative powers could not cope, until the scars became permanent. But what if the situation with Kyo and Taka – and Harry – were bad enough to bring him to that precipice again? _What if it's my fault?_ he asked himself, and shuddered.

"'Soka-chan?" There was a brief pause, then the muffled voice from the other room continued. "Ah, could you at least come back and cut me loose?"

_Cut. . .?_ Astonished, Hisoka stared at the closed razor on his palm, then an amazingly wicked smile transformed his solemn features. He snickered. Oh, that was perfect. . .rather than hide the thing, he had an idea to turn it into something that neither of them would ever be able to look at in the same way again. The blade joined the tube of gel in his back pocket and he quickly opened the door.

Hisoka smothered an urge to laugh out loud, and sauntered over to lean against the bedpost with his arms crossed casually across his chest.

Tsuzuki had managed to get his shirt half untucked, but the magical bindings at his wrists and ankles were unaffected by his struggles. It figured that it would take an army of house elves to combat Tsuzuki's perpetually rumpled look. They couldn't do a thing about his tendency to wear his tie crooked and at half-mast, nor could they stop him from leaving his robes flapping open. But his slacks were carefully pressed, and the smooth white linen of his dress shirt was ironed and starched to perfection. That made just the right contrast to take the man from merely handsome to sexy beyond belief. Of course, having been largely deprived for the past couple of months didn't exactly hurt, either, Hisoka reflected. His libido might be a lot more repressed than say, Kyo's, but it had gotten used to the physical part of marriage a long time ago.

And his place by the foot of the bed was giving him a perfect chance to make all sorts of _other _observations. Including that the few minutes that he had been gone had moved Tsuzuki from frightened, to worried, to moderately angry. Which was probably a good thing, as Hisoka realized that scaring anyone – especially his husband - made him very, very uncomfortable. The darker Shinigami glared up at him and Hisoka carefully kept his best poker face in place. Annoyance turned down the corners of Tsuzuki's expressive mouth and he frowned at the fair youth. "So. Are you going to untie me?"

"No." The soft reply left no wiggle room, and Tsuzuki's eyebrows shot up. Hisoka rarely joked, and it wasn't in his nature to be coy or flirtatious, but there was definitely something going on. The boy stood in profile to the bed, head lowered so that the fall of his corn silk hair fanned along the tops of his cheekbones and forehead, concealing his still face. Fine boned though he might be, the curve of his throat was decidedly masculine, the angle showing his Adam's apple, and the same could be said for the unconscious curve of his back and hips as he shoved his hands deep into his pockets. Tsuzuki made a quiet, appreciative noise at the back of his throat, and the boy's wide green eyes snapped to meet his. Oh, no. . .Not coy at all. The direct, level stare challenged him, and Tsuzuki felt a delicious shiver run up his spine.

Hisoka pushed gently away from the upright post, walking slowly up the bed's length to stop beside the darker Shinigami's hip. He didn't miss the way his husband'seyes flicked swiftly along the line formed by the dark blue of the jeans hugging his waist, and up to the pale 'V' of delicate skin where the top button of his shirt was left undone. It hadn't escaped Hisoka's notice that the two of them were dressed much the same in white dress shirts and dark pants, even if his were jeans instead of tailored wool; Tsuzuki liked seeing him this way and had dressed him accordingly. Which was just fine given that he intended to return the compliment with interest. The only question was how. . .? He remained absolutely still, turning the problem around in his brain, then climbed carefully up onto the high bed and laid himself gently on top of his partner.

The larger man's breath whooshed out, ending with a soft quaver. Hisoka arranged himself carefully, chin resting on folded hands, his elbows slipping down Tsuzuki's ribs. At that close range, he could study the smooth hollow just below the man's ear, where soft, chestnut brown hair curled at the hinge of his jaw. The faint quiver of his ivory skin marked where the pulse was strongest, and quite without thought, Hisoka stretched to his full length and kissed that spot. Tsuzuki was watching him, and he liked the fluttering feeling it gave him. He shifted and allowed his legs from knee to hip to slip between black wool clad thighs.

"Ah, 'Soka. . .Do you know what you do to me?" the low voice was hoarse.

"No. Show me?"

A low laugh vibrated through the sternum beneath him, tickling and turning his insides to mush. It was a good thing that Tsuzuki never used such a sexy sound outside of their privacy. "_Baka_. I'm tied down."

"Ah. So you are. Guess I'll have to find out for myself. . ." Green eyes remained fixed sincerely on violet, but one small hand was creeping down Tsuzuki's side before slipping innocently between their bodies. The hard bumping of the boy's knuckles across the bulge beneath the soft wool brought it surging upward, trapping fingers and palm against the matching firmness within his jeans. Hisoka gasped softly, rocking against his own hand and Tsuzuki's groin beneath it. Enma. . .it felt good.

"Tell me. . ." the man commanded, curiosity and arousal turning his low voice thick. "What do you feel?"

"Gods. . ." Hisoka moaned, allowing his forehead to drop onto the crisp shirt under him. Without his willing it, his hand contracted and an answering spasm shot through him, radiating out from that junction. Sweat sheened across his trembling skin. "Gods. . ." he repeated. "It feels. . .like my skin is too tight. Like I've been running or fighting till every muscle burns. . .Like. . .I'm dying of thirst." Unconsciously, he squeezed himself again, feeling the clever rocking of Tsuzuki beneath him adding another layer of pressure and contact. Buried in a haze of sensation, he realized that tied down or not, his partner was hardly out of the running. The slow stroking of that body moving against him was going to drive him crazy, or ruin another set of clothes. With difficulty, Hisoka drew his hand out from between them. "I want you," huskily, he breathed the words into Tsuzuki's mouth as he settled his lips. That mouth opened, inviting him in, even as the ghost touch of thought rushed over the empath's mind: _Yes!_

They kissed with bruising intensity until Hisoka jerked back, gasping for breath, heart pounding violently within the cage of his ribs. Under him, he could feel the same straining rhythm and he was consumed with the need to touch and feel. Dipping down for another kiss, the blond's shaking fingers raced down the line of buttons on his husband's shirt, dazedly registering that it was damp with sweat, as was his own. The sudden cool brush of chilling fabric clenched the muscles of his stomach and shocked his nipples to hardness. Wrenching his mouth free, Hisoka looked down and was pleased to see the same reaction mirrored on a larger body. He rocked back onto his knees, caught between Tsuzuki's thighs, and ignored the visible trembling of the man's spread legs. For one blinding instant, all he cared about was the smooth planes and valleys of the form revealed by the parted fabric. Shaking, he rubbed both hands over breast and nipples, down clearly defined ribs and the softly quivering bands flanking his navel. Hisoka's thumbs slipped beneath the waistband of the man's trousers, finding and rubbing the line of soft hair that pointed toward bigger and better pleasures.

"I want to _see_," irritably, the boy muttered. He flung one hand out, summoning a dim glow of mage-light that clung like St. Elmo's fire to each fold and drape of the bed curtains above and around them. The shimmering light was softer than candle glow, pale as liquid moonlight. In it, Tsuzuki's dark violet eyes were near-black pools, glimmering with a night sky's worth of stars. They were fixed with unblinking intensity on the slight figure that held him captive, kneeling between his bound legs. Hisoka sensed that regard and looked up, frozen for an instant with one slim hand on his partner's waist, the other outstretched. Then slowly, he allowed that hand to sink down, spread fingers coming to rest on pale skin. "You're _mine_," he whispered gently.

"Yes. . ." came the faint reply.

"To do whatever I wish with," the low voice added.

"Yes." There were no doubts in the quiet surrender. Tsuzuki stared at him, eyes gone still, pale lips parted. Hisoka's gaze remained locked with his as his hands reached for the buckle of the man's belt. There was no need for hurry in his leisurely movements. The smooth leather slid easily free of the belt loops. The button at his waist offered no resistance. Nor did his zipper. Then Hisoka's fingers were sliding in, wrapping with sure strength around the hot flesh within. He laid himself back down on top of his partner, slipping his tongue into the willing mouth that waited for him. Each slow stroke, each delighted nibble and sucking pull on the defenseless tongue and lips was matched by a slow stroke of his hand, until Tsuzuki began to moan and buck against him.

It took every ounce of willpower that the boy had to push himself back up, to resume his kneeling place between his lover's legs. He ached at the denial of his desires.

Decades of training with a sword had firmed the muscles in his delicate wrists, had given iron strength to his slim fingers. Hisoka settled his small hands onto Tsuzuki's erection, fingers precisely aligned, the proper distance separating them, just as if he gripped the hilt of a katana. The difference was that as he slowly drew his hands upward, then back down, it was a sheath of flesh and skin that unrolled. A shuddering tremor flowed through the unresisting man as his foreskin slid back, teasingly, over the rim of his glans Glancing up the line of his lover's body, Hisoka drank in the sight of pale skin, barely a shade darker than the white shirt that lay wantonly open, the tense curve of his neck as his head was ground back into the supporting pillows. Within the focus of his _chi_, Hisoka felt the thrum of that body, like the low note of a drawn bow's string. A shiver sped down his own spine, the feeling so intense and divine that it was all he could do to hold his position.

He wanted so desperately to release the older Shinigami from the ropes, to roll the two of them over and drag Tsuzuki's arms into place around his hips. But not this time. This time, he intended to show just how much he desired his husband for more than a few minutes, or a single night. "Asato. . ." he groaned softly. "I love you." The surging light of the other's aura together with the leap of the flesh in his slowly stroking hands destroyed his concentration; Hisoka shifted his lower hand beneath the upward thrust of Tsuzuki's eager hips, finding his entrance and rubbing a thumb across it hard. His remaining hand slid down ruthlessly, completely uncovering the head of the man's erection in a glistening trail of liquid, then he sheathed it properly in his own mouth, following his hand down the length.

Tsuzuki screamed as he passed the tight curve of muscle and cartilage at the back of the younger Shinigami's throat. It scrubbed with unbearably hot wetness over every ridge and nerve of over-stimulated _need_; a muscle in his thigh jerked sympathetically, and the magical bindings on his wrists creaked alarmingly as he threw himself toward the blinding pressure in his groin. That softly shining head of golden hair teased and tempted him. He wanted to tangle his fingers into the fine strands, to hold it steady while he buried himself in the hot throat.

Some latent sense of cruelty told Hisoka precisely the moment to withdraw, leaving the shuddering man balanced on the knife-edge of release. His throat felt sore and swollen, but it was worth every bit of it to see Tsuzuki like that. Visible even in the pale glow of conjured lights, a flush had spread across his bare chest, cresting on his cheeks. Curls of sweaty hair clung to his temples and the side of his neck, and his dark eyes were more than half mad with arousal. The younger Shinigami felt the sudden stab of recognition, dizzily seeing himself from Tsuzuki's perspective: narrow chest heaving, already healing lips still bruised and pink. But rather than the revulsion Hisoka normally associated with seeing his own image, there was a drowning, violent storm of emotion. The hot taste of desire and a darker possessiveness flooded across the bond between them, and the younger man understood that Tsuzuki didn't care what he had done, or might do. All that mattered was that they were together, as they had been meant to be from the beginning. Hisoka heard a low growl, and was astonished to find that it was coming from himself. It tugged at him, refusing to be denied. He leaned down and kissed his husband's belly, then licked around his navel. "Mine," he repeated, still growling. Hidden behind his back, he fumbled for the folded razor in his pocket and drew it out.

A frisson of terror sped down Tsuzuki's limbs when he saw the wicked shine of the steel. Hisoka couldn't suppress a surprisingly evil chuckle. Of course his lover recognized the blade that he habitually kept in the bottom of his shaving kit. And he remembered the feel of it slicing deep into his own flesh: the initial splitting of skin silent and painless, then the corroding agony as it tore tendons and opened veins, spilling their precious burden. Hisoka gently drew the flat of the razor across the bound man's stomach, feeling the twitch of his skin as it shrank away. The he reversed the razor and reached down between Tsuzuki's legs.

The spike of mindless fear through their shared bond was almost more than he could take, assailing Hisoka with worry and making his hand shake. He paused and bent down to lightly kiss the flexing stomach in front of him. "Trust me." The quiet words had their intended effect. Dumbly, the older man nodded. Hisoka held his eyes for a long moment, motionless. Then the blade pierced the straining wool, and slid slowly up, neatly splitting the fabric. The _snick_ of the razor closing wrenched a sharp cry from the man, but Hisoka was already pulling the rent wool open, wriggling himself down the bed. Before Tsuzuki would gather breath for a second protest, his tongue thrust into his unsuspecting body, driving the man into a convulsing seizure of pleasure.

_Oh, gods. . ._The incoherent moan was wrung from the boy. Tsuzuki's thighs spasmed under his gripping hands. Hips lifted involuntarily, desperately trying to fall open a hair further, to urge the tongue fucking him a fraction deeper. Hisoka gave a tremulous, shuddering laugh and felt the man's body shake with the beginnings of climax at the added sensation. Quickly he drew back, blowing a warm breath across the sensitive, reddened skin, and was rewarded with an agonized yelp. It took him a moment to make sense out of the sound; then he grinned evilly as he recognized Tsuzuki's familiar cry of "Mean!" Oh, most definitely 'mean.' The man had no idea just how 'mean' he intended to be. Laughing silently, he pulled the tube of gel from the back pocket of his jeans.

He didn't have to worry about the slick stuff being too cold – it had warmed nicely from being in contact with his own body, and was nearly liquid on his fingers as he squeezed out a thick bead. The soft, whimpering, needy sounds coming from his partner became a startled shout as Hisoka drove two fingers into his waiting opening, but it was the younger blond who practically collapsed. Already wet from the earlier use of his tongue, the tight muscles yielded completely, permitting his questing touch to slam into the hidden spot deep within on the first thrust. The burning triumph of orgasm slammed through their linked minds, matching a shock wave of external sound that shook the castle walls.

The harsh, sobbing noises were coming from himself, Hisoka realized. A barely coherent part of his brain was desperately clutching at sanity, holding him back from drowning in Tsuzuki's stuttering, confused thrashing. The sheer power of the dark Shinigami's response drew a flickering glow to his skin, the luminescence of his immortal form made momentarily solid on the mortal plane. Gasping, the slighter blond held onto his husband's bucking form, blessing the magical strength of the ropes that bound him. Anything less would have broken.

As Tsuzuki quieted, the dizzy boy took in the damage that they had done to the rumpled covers; the scarlet fabric was turning dark crimson from sweat, and had torn in at least one place, the fine satin punished beyond what it was intended to endure. The same could be said for the dark haired Shinigami on some levels. Hisoka drew up a corner of the bed clothes and tenderly wiped his sticky belly.

"'Soka. . .?" The hoarse inquiry was still warm with arousal. "Thank you. But. . ." A soft chuckle trembled between them. "I still want you. Please. Come here." Without thinking, the boy climbed up on top of his husband.

"Thirty years. . ." Hisoka murmured, a quiet exhalation of sound. His steady eyes caught at Tsuzuki's, held without fear or doubt. Eyes still wide, he slid upward that last fraction of an inch and lowered his mouth to the bound man's in a light touch. In that moment of contact, Tsuzuki heard the splintering sound of glass, like the shattering of a _kekkai_, and an unforgivable heat flared from the chaste point of contact. _Oh, Enma, forgive us! _he cried silently, and arched into the frail weight of the boy, even as the burn shivered through his muscles again.

A roar like a thunderclap split the air, and plaster dust and cobwebs began to rain down on the bed's canopy. It settled like dirty snow onto the rucked up surface of the rug, and onto the bright paisley of the wingback chair. Neither of the bed's occupants heard or saw. Fair and dark hair lifted into gleaming halos around their heads, and the arcane energy plucked at their clothes, creating an illusion of weightlessness like floating in space. Hisoka's hands gripped the sides of his husband's head, splayed fingers slipping along his scalp, one finger grazing the outer curve of his ear. His mouth moved with growing urgency across Tsuzuki's and sharp, white teeth caught his lower lip. Blood, brilliantly red against the white, blossomed and Hisoka licked at it before plunging his tongue into the wet warmth beyond. The older Shinigami's moan vibrated against him; thigh, stomach, chest, and mouth, as he opened himself in surrender.

Gasping, Hisoka pulled himself back. He was sitting astride the man's hips, the heat of an unmistakable erection pressing into the cleft of his rear through his jeans. Even as he slid himself back, riding the surface beneath him, it bucked, pressing perfectly into place. Hisoka nearly fell forward onto his face, a hoarse shout tearing itself from his throat. Without wand or _ofuda_, he banished the constraining clothes.

By taking control, he had surrendered it utterly.

* * *

Right, _now _Kyo really regretted not snagging more substantial clothing than just Takashi's faded white shirt and dark slacks.

Frowning as the Potion Master's office door thumped closed behind him, Kyo glanced down the hallway, where the shadows pooled more thickly, almost pulsating with life of their own, the sootless torches failing to penetrate the gloom. Kyo snorted softly. Trust the dour man to have his offices at the most unnerving place in the entire castle. He eyed the waiting shadows narrowly – they looked almost thick enough to swim in. Did that part of the corridor lead to an underground tunnel or something? He could swear he felt the coldest breeze ever, and in his current state, the usual discomfort was elevated to near pain.

"Just your imagination, Shiozaki," he muttered under his breath. He squared his shoulders resolutely. No use putting off what he said he would do. Firmly turning his back against the disquieting, waiting shadows, Kyo made his way back up the castle, heading towards the teachers' quarters, specifically, Takashi's and Tsuzuki's. The corridors were quiet during his journey, the suits of armor merely that, the paintings watching him with blank eyes and furtive whispers. A few tried to smile at him, wobbly imitations that for one young lady in a Regency gown, turned into tears. Her companion, a dapper, youthful man in breeches and coat patted her gently on the arm, handing her a handkerchief. Seeing Kyo standing stock still and watching, the painted man bowed in his direction, offering silent apology.

It was the pity behind that apology that prompted Kyo to move again.

He kept near the windows, almost loathe to give up what little starlight that managed to shine down from dark skies and through leaded, aged glass. Dust motes drifted silent, as silent as the young Shinigami who skirted the dark crannies and nooks. Arms wrapped around himself, Kyo gave the last window a wistful glance before he turned a corner and into the long hallway where doors spaced generously down the length of the stone corridor indicated he was nearing his destination.

As he passed by the door to his husband's apartment, he faltered. Takashi had sensed him – there was a faint tug at their bond; a plea for him to come back. Kyo had to remind himself of what was at stake to not give in and bury himself in his partner's arms. He sent back a wordless assurance and moved resolutely on.

All too soon he was standing before the door to the apartment next to Takashi's. He had never been to Tsuzuki's, though Takashi had pointed it out to him before. This door was the same as the others – iron banded, with rivets blackened by age. The wood was practically petrified by uncountable years yet even so, he could still sense the smallest spark of life within; Hogwarts magic was such that inanimate matters sheltered within her embrace grew sentiency.

Tentative, almost as shy as the first time he learned to harness his inborn gift, Kyo reached out to that spark and –

_Wrong!_

He gasped, stumbling back, eyes wide. Trembling, he stared at the door then down to the blistered tips of his fingers. Even as he watched, the raised bumps subsided slowly, healthy pink skin almost laboriously slow to emerge.

"Enma," he whispered brokenly. "What has he _done?_"

"Kyo-kun? Are you alright?"

His head shot up, heart beating wildly. The young Shinigami hadn't sensed or even realized the door was opening, revealing a worried Tsuzuki standing in the doorframe. "Kyo?" he prompted again.

"A-Asato. . ." he stuffed his hand quickly into the pocket of his slacks. Suddenly reminded of why he was there, he swallowed nervously, eyes darting all over the place. "Is. . is Hisoka here?"

The senior Shinigami hesitated, purple eyes shadowed. "He's not. . ." he answered slowly and Kyo's heart plummeted to his feet, only to have Tsuzuki say, "He's at the library. He wanted some time alone he said."

"Oh." Kyo blinked and shook his head, trying to recollect himself. "Ah. . thanks. I'll just. . ." His pocketed hand clenched into a fist. "I'm sorry," he told the floor.

"Whatever for, Kyo-kun?" Tsuzuki asked, and the younger man's overworked heart constricted tighter at the gentle, kind tone.

"For. . ." voice raspy, Kyo forced the words past numbed lips. "For putting Hisoka into this situation. . .for not being strong enough."

He waited, not sure of what he was waiting for exactly, but it surely wasn't forarms clad in soft cotton to wrap around his chilled body in a warm hug, scented with sandalwood. Too surprised to do anything but stand dumbly, even as his face was buried against a hard chest, Kyo blinked, unsure as Tsuzuki dropped a gentle kiss on the top of his head.

"You silly boy," the words rumbled deep in the man's chest, vibrating within his own. "You and Hisoka are too alike, taking on guilt that was never yours to bear."

"We all do," he automatically replied and was rewarded by another chest-deep rumble; wordless this time, a laugh that warmed him better than any fire.

"Very true. Now, stop being such a _baka_, _ne_?"

Shaking his head ruefully, Kyo looked up, smiling. Tsuzuki's open face smiled back, but there was a growing darkness within, the smile dropping away when the man said, "Your eyes. . ."

Irritated now, Kyo looked away, trying to cross his arms petulantly though his actions were hampered by the fact that Tsuzuki had yet to let him go. "Yeah, yeah," he grumbled. "So everyone says."

The senior Shinigami sighed, one hand stealing up to cup the back of his head, kneading the scalp gently. "Kyo?"

"I need. . ." he swallowed again. That lump was getting annoying. Was he going to break into tears like a wuss all the time now? "Did Hisoka tell you that I've been. . ah, cursed by Voldemort?" At Tsuzuki's silent nod, he continued, "Snape says that he needs to know the exact steps Voldemort took to counter this curse. There's a. . .a Pensieve," he stumbled over the unfamiliar word. "A way for them to view my memory of that. . that time." The hand massaging his scalp stilled, before continuing with deliberate calmness.

"And what, Kyo-kun?"

Despite his best efforts, a lone tear slipped free, curving down one pale cheek. "I want. . .I want to ask for Hisoka's permission first, before letting them see it."

Abruptly, he was pulled into another bone-crushing hug but he returned its fierceness with one of his own, clinging to the taller man desperately. The rest of his tears fell freely, wetting Tsuzuki's shirtfront as he sobbed, "I don't. . .I haven't even told Taka about. . everything that happened th-that night and. . and. . .I don't _want to!_"

Tsuzuki rocked him back and forth gently, rubbing his back and murmuring soft words. "It's okay, it's going to be alright. We'll make it alright, just watch."

"It can't! I don't. . .Taka doesn't know!"

"But I do, Kyo-kun."

The next sob caught in his throat, painful and too big to swallow. He froze in Tsuzuki's arms, not sure of what to do or say. Blinking, frozen tears falling free, his throat worked silently, useless, as he tried to speak around that permanent obstruction.

Tsuzuki nudged him gently with his chin, demanding without words that he look up and face his older companion. Still flustered, and now caught bemused by this more affectionate Tsuzuki, Kyo obeyed and was held cheek to jowl with the taller man. Skin warm against his, Kyo's breath snagged. His eyes almost crossed with unexpected pleasure at the sensation – the senior Shinigami usually hummed with magic butnow, the man was practically vibrating with it, that overlapping aura of light, color and sound washing over him, drowning him in comfort, need, want, fear, reassurance. The conflicting emotions were too clear, even for a non-empath like him, charged as they were with pure magic and the young Shinigami was barely aware of the his own soft whimpers, fingers scrambling for an anchor as he pressed himself deeper into the embrace. This. . this blazing warmth was what he was searching for, a dazed part of his mind noted. This never ending, undulating wave of power that soothed the hurts away and filled the dark void inside of him.

He became aware of his surroundings to find that the devious, purple eyed Shinigami had somehow gotten him inside the man's apartment, had somehow removed his shoes, and even now, they were both lying on a sinfully deep couch in front of a small fire, burning merrily away behind a decorative screen.

"Huh?" was his intelligent demand to know what, in the name of Enma's Judgment, was going on. All of his being was too focused on the feel of a trim, muscular body pressing into his side, and of the heart beating slowly, steadily under his cheek.

Kyo felt the familiar rumble before he actually focused on the words themselves. "—be more comfortable here, rather than standing in a drafty hallway."

Strong hands tugged him gently, but surely, and the decidedly bewildered Kyo found himself lying on top of the lean form of Hisoka's partner.

It was, Kyo admitted to himself, a very nice position to be in. Tsuzuki was lying propped up against several cushions and the elevated angle was comfortable, which, Kyo supposed, was what Tsuzuki had been aiming for. The man made for a very nice pillow himself; like Takashi, but different. It could be in the long body underneath him – toned and nicely defined, just like Takashi but again, not the same thing.

It felt good, as good as the earlier influx of magic that eased the throbbing inside and soothed the hurts that he could not see but could _feel _all the same.

Kyo sighed. "I don't want to tell him," he murmured, even as tears again seeped from beneath his closed eyelids, dampening the older Shinigami's shirt.

Long, agile fingers brushed through his hair – careful strokes that soothed the tension away and lulled him. The _thump-thump _was underscored by that diesel engine rumble that was Tsuzuki's voice at such close range.

"It's going to be alright, Kyo," he repeated. "And I'll say it again and again until you believe me." Tsuzuki shifted underneath him, large, warm hands roaming slowly over his back, chasing the aches away. His lower body automatically adjusted for the weight shift; his legs fell comfortably between Tsuzuki's which had obligingly parted to accommodate him.

Hours or minutes might have passed before he stirred himself, yet refusing to relinquish the reassurance of Tsuzuki's quiet embrace.

"Why?" he asked, even as he listened intently to the _thump-thump _that never ceased its steady rhythm.

"Because he loves you, Kyo," he was told gently, firmly.

"But. . ." he was growing restless again, only to quiet down when Tsuzuki carded his hair. "He's already beating himself up for not being there. . .I can't let him fall, Asato. And I'm afraid that he would if he. . saw."

"And how much worse would it be to be kept in the dark?" Tsuzuki asked him softly. "How much worse for Taka to guess and never know the truth? Ignorance will only push him down faster, Kyo." He let his words sink in before continuing, "And how sure are you that he will fall? Taka is strong. As strong as any of us. And when he isn't, we'll be there for him, as you and he were there for us."

Tsuzuki did not say another word as Kyo cried for what felt like the hundredth time that day. It was, the younger Shinigami felt, most undignified for a fifty-two year old man, but like Tsuzuki had said, he could be weak and he could falter. Because at the end of the rope, when the dark threatened oblivion, Takashi would be there for him and his friends would be there as well, standing side by side and ready to catch him.

* * *

Footsteps soft and silent, Harry made his way blindly, eyes distant and unfocused. The Marauder's Map was safe in one pocket, Invisibility Cloak in the other. No one could find him now.

_"We're fighting a war, Harry."_

Hermione had said it so matter-of-factly, the brief flash of uncertainty gone like quicksilver, buried and safely entombed within the walls of logic.

_"Taking a life is inevitable. It was self defense."_

Harry had wondered then whether the guilt he heard was hers or a reflection of his.

_"It was either them or us. And I'm not about to lose any of my friends or family to a bunch of cowards hiding under masks."_

He wished he could be as sure and strong as Ron. He had tried but even Occlumency could not stop the nightmares of dark skies, thunder, the snap of broken bones and the foul stench of death, and the new morning had seemed a blasphemy.

He had _taken a life._

He had murdered someone, no matter the reasoning, and Harry wondered whether this was why a young, promising wizard could have taken the mantle of a Dark Lord. Because when you kill with magic, your hands remain clean. There's no blood to wash off after all, when _Avada Kedavra _was your weapon.

He moved from sunlit corridors to ones shrouded with gloom, flickering torches its only point of light. Harry let his feet take him where it would. He was tired of thinking, tired of reasoning, tired of having to put on a smiling mask and tired of his friends' endless assurances that what he did was right.

Would they say the same the next time he killed? After all, he was the one in the prophecy. _For either must die at the hand of the other and neither can live while the other survives._ He would, in the future, have to take a life willingly.

And the trouble was, _it was a laughably easy thing to do._

His wandering halted by a door. He glanced up and down the corridor, disconcerted by the lack of movement, especially after almost (he checked his watch) two hours of it. Classes were cancelled still, the professors rushing from place to place with closed, pinched faces. The Heads of Houses had imposed curfew again, though a much lighter one in that meals still took place in the Great Hall. But no one was to walk without a partner and the grounds outside were forbidden. He heard that Malfoy had awakened, though still kept under careful guard in the hospital wing.

Harry hesitated, hand on the doorknob. If Snape were to catch him wandering the hallways by himself, his reaction would have been a typical one.

_Always above the rules, aren't we Potter? After all, what are mere words designed for the safety of the students when it applies to our Gryffindor hero?_

Mind made up, Harry twisted the doorknob and slid through the opened door and closed it behind him in one swift movement. Safe for now, the exhausted wizard let out a relieved sigh, chancing a wry smile. When in doubt, it seemed that his subconscious had decided that the Defense class was the best place to find refuge in. Here, any situation was under his control. He would never make mistakes in the mock battles staged here. He would never have to take a life, pretend or otherwise, in a classroom full of sunlight and cushions for the poor sods taking a _stupefy. _

Indeed, the classroom would have been a perfect hideaway (along with refreshments which he was sure he could scrounge off of Dobby) if not for the fact he had been beaten to it.

Frozen with indecision, Harry checked the impulse to run, or t oconcoct a believable story. The figure hunched in a seat by the large windows overlooking part of the Forbidden Forest was too big to be a student(unless it was either Crabbe or GoyleandHarry severely doubted either would chose a classroom as a place of refuge). It had to be a professor and since it wasn't a professor with greasy black hair (it was a nice shade of chocolate brown in fact, with glossy highlights), the young wizard was relatively sure he was safe.

"Er. . .professor?" he ventured a try.

The stooped figure stiffened, before unfolding itself and turning around in the wooden seat. Green eyes met purple, and each froze, unsure what to say.

"Tsuzuki," Harry tried awkwardly. He genuinely liked the Japanese. Or as much as he could with the little contact they had had. The one long encounter they shared, ironically enough in this very classroom, had been fraught with tension and worry, concern for a mate and friends shared together. Hardly conducive to the start of a long, beautiful friendship. But the onmyouji_ was _Hisoka's husband, and Kyo and Takashi's friend.

Of whom there'd been no news of in the past three days.

"Harry."

Neither appeared willing to start, or finish, the nonexistent conversation. Harry lingered by the doorway, unsure and nervous, and the anticipation he could sense didn't help any. He wanted to ask about the others, he did. Dumbledore had proven to be too elusive to be tracked down and the other professors were too tightlipped.

Harry mentally berated himself. Of all the times for his vaunted Gryffindor courage to fail him-!

Fingering the cuff of one sleeve, already slightly frayed from such treatment in the past, Harry asked, "How. . .how're Hisoka and Kyo doing?" He shifted from one foot to another. "We've been asking the other professors but no one can say anything."

With Tsuzuki still staring at him, the apprehensive wizard added, "They are okay, right?"

Blinking slowly, Tsuzuki tried to go for a half smile but it was a shaky effort, underscored by too-pale skin and shadows under his hypnotizing eyes. "They're alright. . ." Tsuzuki answered slowly, and getting to his feet proved to be an action as slow and ponderous as his words, as though the Japanese thought his body and mouth an unreliable thing that must be controlled with precision care. Standing, he swayed slightly but before Harry could rush to his side, the onmyouji waved away his apparent concern. "I'm okay," he said in answer. "Just. . it's been a long few days."

Now _that _could compete for understatement of the year. And Harry doubted the man's honesty. Or its completeness rather. If both Hisoka and Kyo were doing fine, then why did Hisoka's mate looked as though he had a run in with a few Dementors?

"But. . .?" he prompted, and flushed when he received a raised eyebrow in return. He forgot how restrained his Japanese friends were. Hermione had assured the few Gryffindors who had complained of Hisoka and Kyo's rather reticent contact with their adopted House that Japanese, as custom dictated, were generally polite to a fault, and that inquisitiveness was frowned upon. Though Kyo and to a certain extent, Takashi, proved an exception to that rule in certain circumstances, they were still unfailingly polite and by default, distant with anyone not named 'Harry'.

But then, Harry was never known to be one who followed the rules so he kept the dogged persistence and Tsuzuki sighed, a genuine smile, small as it was, lighting his tired face.

"They're alright to a certain extent," Tsuzuki allowed. "There's a few. . .complications."

"Like?" Harry asked, worry sharpening his tone.

Tsuzuki held his hands out, palms up. "They were prisoners of Voldemort, Harry-kun. Did you think the bastard would stay idle while he had them in his grasp?"

The temporary professor's casual use of the swear word was at odds with his mild delivery and Harry did not miss the swirl of dark grief and misery churning in heliotrope eyes. Tsuzuki's answer was as unhelpful as it was infuriating. It indicated that yes, his friends were still in trouble but it failed to explain just what _kind _of trouble. With Voldemort, it could be many things, and none of them pleasant.

But the words to cajole or threaten further answers from the man froze in his throat. Try as he might, this man before him was not someone he could press while ignoring the consequences. Tsuzuki was not Dumbledore, who still watched him with a lingering air of sadness, desperate to make amends for a year and a lifetime of wrongs. Tsuzuki wasn't his Head of House either, the occasional pride and stern approval lightening the severity. Tsuzuki, as Hisoka, Kyo and Takashi rarely demonstrated, was here for a purpose. What that purpose was, was vague, Harry admitted. Till now, all he ever got from Kyo was that the onmyouji were here to help in the war against Voldemort. The finer details tended to elude his grasp, and not for lack of trying. No wizard he knew save for Snape could let the eyes show as much emotion as a brick wall as all four Japanese could.

Tsuzuki seemed to sense his unasked question for the man shot him a wan grin. "I'm sure you'll find out more soon. The Headmaster is calling for a meeting to discuss our next course of action this afternoon." The Japanese glanced at his watch, face showing mild surprise. "Ah! It's getting late. I promised to see Professor Flitwick. If you'd excuse me?"

Without waiting for an answer, Tsuzuki strode towards the door, smiling blankly at Harry who automatically stepped aside for the man. But before the onmyouji could escape, reason returned to Harry and he grasped after the man in desperation, heedless of his action but Tsuzuki hurried, ignoring his cry of "Wait!"

There was more, Harry knew, and Tsuzuki was refusing to tell him. Frantic, he caught a fistful of professorial robes, and like that night in a dark forest where thunder and lightning crashed, the magic reached out just as his small hands refused to let go of crumpled fabric and—

_He was so tired._

_So very tired._

_Tired of the fighting, of the struggle to put a smile on his face when all he wanted to do was cry and cry and cry. Tired of being the one condemned when all he did was what he had to. _

_He was tired of the deaths. Of failing. Of facing disappointment and accusation when he proved to be unworthy of what was asked of him._

_He lifted his arms, the sleeves of the _yukata _sliding back to his elbows. He lifted his arms in entreaty to Touda, the one god who would listen to his plea and grant him his wish when the others would not._

_"Burn," he whispered. "Burn it all down, Touda. Please."_

_And Touda answered him with a shrieking roar that drove the black flames higher, eating concrete and steel like mere tissue paper. He ignored the bite of debris under him, how it scraped his bare calves and poked uncomfortably into his back, the concrete slab a poor substitute of a resting place._

_Soon, soon it would all be over and he could finally sleep. If sleep was possible in Hell. Because one such as he deserved Hell after all. He was a murderer, plain and simple. _

_He hoped they would allow him sleep. Not for long, but just enough. Just long enough to—_

_"Tsuzuki!"_

_He turned his head, absently astonished. There, visible amidst the crackle and leaping black flames of Touda's fire was a slim youth with fair hair turned molten by the blaze, and large green eyes that saw past his façade of a bumbling, happy man._

_"Hisoka." The name fell from his cracked lips. It could have been a glad cry, or a whisper of damnation. Before he could decide which, Hisoka was shouting again._

_"Are you alright? Can you move? Hold on! I'm coming!"_

_And true to his word (unlike him; how many promises had he broken anyway?) Hisoka disappeared, only to materialize right in front of him. The young man, barely sixteen, ignored the heat and the fire, dropping to his knees and wrapping thin arms around him._

_"Please, Tsuzuki," Hisoka whispered into the embrace, yet he could hear every word as clearly as if they were spoken right beside his ear. "Don't do this."_

_He lowered his arms, laying them hesitantly on the blond's shoulders. "I. . . I can't. I'm tired. I can't do this anymore," and there was no shame for the break in his voice, how the tears flowed unheeded because it was the truth. "It would be better for everyone if I leave."_

_"No!" That fierce cry startled him, as did the strong grip that shook him. "How could you say that!" Hisoka accused him. "It _won't _be better without you! I. . ." the sudden fierceness disappeared, to be replaced by a haunting, trembling_yearning _that could not be forged. "_I _need you, Tsuzuki. Please."_

_Bewildered, he fell back on his age-old mantra, the reason why he was damned for all eternity. "But. . .I'm not human."_

_"You are! You're more human than any of us! Don't you ever say that you're not, ever again!"_

_The change from a frightened sixteen year old to this beautiful, determined young man limned in flames confused him, as did the words. How could Hisoka say it with such certainty? Hadn't the boy seen how he easily he killed? The blood on his hands? The scars on his soul, if he had one?_

_"But—"_

_"No!" The hard glint in those large eyes softened and Hisoka repeated, gently, "No, I'm not lying. You _are _human, Tsuzuki and I would never lie to you. Please don't leave me," the boy begged in turn. "I need you. I. . I love you. Please."_

_And he held the boy close, tears mixing together, bright, desperate hope kindling to life inside him even in the midst of hellfire. He could feel the truth of Hisoka's words, just as he could hear it even with the roar of the flames. Here was a reason to go on, a reason to believe. _

_Hisoka loved him._

_Oh Enma forgive him but he loved the boy back, with everything that he could offer and beyond._

_And he vowed then, as Touda screamed in the skies above and as the building fell around them, that he would repay Hisoka's gift. That if the time came, he would be there for the empath and he would save the one he loved just as he was saved, tonight._

_He would save him._

_—_and Harry stumbled back, panting, eyes wide, chest heaving. He could feel the heat still, could feel how painfully _hot _Touda's fire was. So hot, that stone melted and flesh crumbled. But he wasn't in that burning building, _he wasn't._

He stared at Tsuzuki's rigid back, thoughts racing madly as he tried to make sense of what just happened. Was his vision real? Did he actually look into Tsuzuki's past?

And a small flicker of hope, not unlike how Tsuzuki had felt as he was pulled back from the dark abyss of death, grew inside him. He wasn't alone. There were others like him. He could do this. He _had _to. Because to do otherwise would prove the sacrifices he and others who loved him had made useless.

"Tsuzuki, I—" he gasped, folding over as the connection between him and the Japanese proved to be still active. A swirling maelstrom of. . .no, not hate. Hate was too strong a word. . ._bitterness _flowed down their link, flooding his mind and body.

Tsuzuki. . resented him?

"I never got to thank you for what you did for Hisoka back in that forest." Tsuzuki sounded calm for all the dark emotion still churning deep within him. Harry looked up, tears welling in his eyes but his throat worked soundlessly. Tsuzuki went on, refusing to face him.

"Hisoka is one of the strongest empaths I've ever met, if not the strongest. So strong that if he isn't careful, it could turn on him. And it did. But _you _saved him. You pulled him back. And you have no idea how grateful I am." Tsuzuki laughed then, a bitter, broken and discordant laughter. "But _I_ was supposed to be the one to save him. Me. And I didn't. I failed him, again and again."

Harry moaned wordlessly, a hand reaching out in entreaty to the broad back and Tsuzuki shuddered. With an almost audible snap, their accidental link broke and Harry fell to the ground, gasping as the tears splashed on the cold stone floor.

"I'm sorry."

The door closed shut with a muffled thump. And it felt like hours before Harry could force his body to abandon its sprawl on the floor and heave himself up on the nearest chair. Trembling, Harry stared blindly at his clenched hands. The old scar gleamed in the light.

_I will not tell lies._

He laughed, and the sound echoed Tsuzuki's eerily. Who would have thought that someone could actually _resent _him for his saving-people thing? He laughed again, but the hysterical edge caught in his throat, blocked by a sob too huge to hold back and he choked. It felt, to judge by the stabbing pain in his chest, as though he was crying for more than himself. As though a part of Tsuzuki, which the man had refused to let out here in a land not familiar to him, had lodged itself deep inside the young wizard and it too shared in his grief.

Surrendering, he laid his head on his folded arms, and wept.

For all of them.

* * *

It was only later, when the moon was high over the castle and Fawkes sang a song of loss and pain, when Albus Dumbledore sat in a seat of worn velvet and faded stars before a fire that failed to warm his bones properly that the Headmaster remembered.

He remembered and he wondered.

He wondered why Takashi referred to the Death Eaters as 'humans' and 'mortals'.

He wondered why Takashi said it in such a way as though the Japanese themselves, _weren't_.

* * *

**To be Continued**

* * *

**Note: **Oh thank god this chapter is done. (Kelly and LibraryCat dies). For those deterred by the length of this chapter, _gomen_. But me and Lisa are just too damned tired to cut it. Cutting would require more editing and frankly, we just want this bloody chapter out already, for god's sake. 


	36. Chapter 36: Memories

**Title: **When Death Comes a'Knocking: Book 1 – Of Revelations

**Plot Mistresses: **Kelly & LibraryCat

**Spell Researchers: **LibraryCat and Kelly

**Warning: **A rather long, emotionally-driven chapter. I just have this to say – finally, the damn chapter's done!

* * *

**Dedicated to Angel of the Eclipse, who helped make Kyo and Takashi come alive in colors and ink.**

(View the official Kyo & Takashi over at my mailing list! See link in profile!)

* * *

**Review replies:**

**OctoberLeaves aka Rina-chan: **I'm glad you liked it so. The Kyoto scene was perhaps, one of the most outstanding moment in the anime, and I was happy that I could use it. Besides, Harry needs to realise/remember that he's not the only one who was screwed by fate.

**Cmquietone, Literary Eagle, penny, Aiden Istar/Nekoki Yakkai, sol-nemesis: **Woot! Some of the most faithful readers/reviewers I have! Love you guys. And so happy the story keeps meeting your approval!

**Quatre Winner: **I made you speechless? Cool (grin).

**Chara13, rachelsilverrose, yaoi-hunter: **Thank you!

**Daemonchan: (**glomps) Hello! And hey, glad you agree with me that sometimes, you gotta be a bastard (grin). Truthfully, I wanted Tsuzuki to pull the mojo on Kyo too. . .but. . .plot integrity and all. . .bah, humbug. (Don't tell me you didn't read the AU-fics at the mailing list at least?)

**Teldra: **It always makes me so happy whenever someone is willing to give Kyo and Takashi a try! Thank you for your thoughtful comments. For myself, Kyo and Takashi were created (or rather, given flesh since they were in my head for a long time already) because I was in despair of ever writing anything worth reading concerning the original cast of YnM. It felt as though every conceivable plot bunny had been used (Kouri and Karasu. Leareth. 'Nuff said) and I felt that I would just be a mere copycat to continue. Hence; Kyo and later, Takashi came to life. If anything, I use the two of them to explore the other Shinigami. Only, I'm too fond of subtext and it ends up only myself and Lisa who see it. . .(sighs)

**Jimmy: **Thank you for giving my story a try! And, oho, can't tell you what's gonna happen with the Quinta Essentia! (cackles) Just be assured that it will be a very unpleasant time for everyone involved. . .

**Hitomibishop: **. . .it's a good thing I really like you, otherwise, your late and _very _short review would have hurt me badly. . .(sniffles) (How's the eyes by the way?)

* * *

**Chapter 36**

**Memories**

_Though sands be black and bitter black the sea,  
Night lie before me and behind me night,  
And God within far Heaven refuse to light  
The consolation of the dawn for me,--  
Between the shadowy burns of Heaven and Hell,  
It is enough love leaves my soul to dwell  
With memory_

_--Madison Julius Cawein,_ The End of All_--_

* * *

Carefully, in case hurried movements disturbed the silence of the night that had gripped most of the castle in peaceful slumber, Kyo allowed the heavy door to swing close on its own momentum, just catching it shy of the jamb and easing it shut with a soft click. Most of the apartment's interior before him was shrouded in gloom, the brackets of candles now unlit, though the fireplace burned still – merely enough to alleviate the darkness.

Enough also, to highlight a hunched figure in a large armchair, head bowed and hands restlessly mauling the should-have-been neat hair. The shadowy figure didn't even stir as Kyo padded up behind, footsteps soft and silent, feet bare on the cool wooden floor.

Grateful for the fact that his husband had chose to go with more modern furnishings than what had graced Tsuzuki's apartment, Kyo perched himself on the armrest, cold feet burying themselves into the warmth of Takashi's lap.

The man stilled, silent and unmoving before he willingly accommodated the chilled limbs and with open arms, asking without words for the boy to lower the rest of him into a desperate embrace.

The soft crackle of the fire, glowing red logs that gave off more heat than light now, was the only voice to disturb the stillness. That, and the low moan as Kyo surrendered to the burning kisses that traced his lips, his cheeks, his jaw, the crest of an ear and he shuddered in painful release when the same mouth traced a pattern on the thin skin of his neck, before biting down hard and drawing blood. The young Shinigami clamped down ruthlessly on the rising lust that churned his stomach – he couldn't afford to give in, not until they knew for sure the repercussions (if any) of such an act. He refused a repeat of. . of _then, _for his husband's sake rather than his own. It was with more than a little relief that Takashi appeared to be aware of his struggle for control, for his husband did nothing more than to continue sucking gently at the open wound, kept from healing as Takashi worried the torn skin with teeth and tongue, coaxing more blood even as their Enma-bestowed abilities tried to prevent it. Takashi made sure that his hands strayed no further than the boy's thin shoulders – keeping him still and allowing the boy to sink with a sigh between his legs.

Kyo choked back another sigh as the older Shinigami lapped the wound languorously, blood slowing to a trickle as his body was allowed to regenerate. But no sooner did healthy pink skin, than sharp teeth closed in a vicious nip that wrung a cry from the boy, breaking the skin again and darkened blue eyes closed in pleasure as warm lips closed over the new tear. The pain/pleasure of the act helped him ignore the twisting ache that lurked behind his navel, helped him concentrate on the here and now. It alleviated a pressure inside that he didn't know how to appease – other than with Tsuzuki's earlier offer of magic, which could only help him in small amounts as the nature of their innate powers were incompatible in the first place. This physical, inflicted act tricked his mind into believing that it somehow eased the ache inside even as his blood was drawn.

Small comforts, all of them, but he clung to them nonetheless as he doubted there'd be much else in the coming days. The dark sympathy he had detected in the Potions' Master's eyes had warned him of that.

Soon enough, the couple shifted position; Kyo cradled in the larger man's lap, head tucked comfortably in the crook of Takashi's neck and the boy played idly with the buttons of Takashi's shirt, noting with dim, abstracted amusement how the dying light of the fire glinted off the plastic and painted his husband's skin a delightful bronze.

Takashi meanwhile, had his own amusement to pass the time. He carded long, doctor's fingers through the younger Shinigami's thick hair, humming an indistinct tune under his breath.

Soon enough, the fire died out, plunging the room into inky shadows and dark shapes that could be monsters waiting to pounce on the unwary.

Kyo preferred the darkness, this time. It wouldn't let him see the anguish he was sure to cause on his mate's face.

A cold hand cupping his partner's rock-hard jaw, Kyo started his story of a night of fire and pain.

"He called me an alchemist's dream, because of my powers. . ."

* * *

"I won't do it if you don't want me to."

"There's no 'if's or 'wont's," Hisoka snapped and immediately regretted it, looking away from dim, twilight-deep eyes to stare blindly at the book he was trying to read. He'd come here, to the library, for some peace and a place to wallow in his returning misery and Kyo was not helping. The literally earth-shaking moment he had shared with Tsuzuki was dwindling away, leaving him cold and lonely and with his guilt clamouring loudly in his ears. So to have the very source of his guilt confronting him in his hideaway was _not _helping.

"Go away," he muttered sullenly.

"Not until you can look at me in the eyes and stop thinking that I regret what happened between us." A papery pale hand crossed his line of vision, hovering above the death grip he had the Arithmancy book in before it retracted _because I'm dirty _to set itself lightly near the edge of the table. "I don't regret or hate what happened, 'Soka. What Voldemort did to me, yes. What Malfoy did to _you, _undoubtedly. But never what happened between us."

A flinch he couldn't prevent nearly gave away the game, and Hisoka muttered a curse under his breath. His hand was shaking as he slammed shut the open book lying neglected in front of him, and reached for another of the scattered volumes. Arithmancy. Why the hell was he pretending to do schoolwork? It wasn't as if their lessons were of any real use. But it gave him something to stare at besides Kyo, who, in line with that particular ability to be remarkably dense when the dark haired Shinigami put his mind to it, had chosen the seat right next to the empath, instead of taking the one opposite the table. The lack of distance, and the book, wasn't much help. He found that the older boy's words were giving him disturbing images of normally pale cheeks flushed a delicious pink, and of the way the crest of his ears would show the same precise shade where they peeped out of his glossy black hair. Desperate to convince himself that what his imagination was suggesting _wasn't_ actually there, Hisoka wrenched his eyes up from the table's top, briefly meeting Kyo's disgustingly serene gaze before he was forced to glare at his assignment again. And now it was his turn to go pink as his face heated. Gods damn this gaijin complexion that he had been stuck with; it left him feeling even more exposed.

"If Snape says this is the best way," he continued evenly despite the uncomfortable flush, "then we'll do it. Unless. . ." he shifted awkwardly. "Unless you don't want to." And inside was a niggling sense of shame that a miniscule part of him wished that Kyo would say 'no,' would refuse to go through the planned horror.

The young man in question snorted delicately and the empath _knew_ he'd rolled his eyes. "I'd rather tell Tatsumi to his face that I destroyed the dojo again then go through this. But. . .Snape seems adamant that a. . Pensieve is the best way. . ." When the black haired boy failed to continue, Hisoka snuck a glance from under a veil of dark-gold lashes, unable to stop himself, to find his friend staring off into space, disquieting eyes seeing something no one else could. He waited, tense, and almost fell out of his chair when Kyo continued blandly, eyes twinkling with familiar humor, "Of course, it could be that he has a stake in that betting pool that says we're secretly. . ah, what's the slang again? 'Shagging' each other behind Tsuzuki and Takashi's backs."

The empath sputtered, glaring murder which had absolutely no effect on someone who had been on the receiving end quite regularly for the past thirty years. "Not. Funny." He growled.

"Hell yes it is. Especially considering that the other pool is that Takashi and Tsuzuki are shagging _each other _when we all know there's no one who can wind Takashi up quite like Tsuzuki."

"I'm not listening," he said firmly to the book he was still pretending to be absorbed in. Hisoka drew in a tremulous breath and fixed his attention on the page in front of him. The print was upside down. Oh. Damn. He didn't dare take another look to see if Kyo had noticed. His shoulders hunched instinctively, bracing for the inevitable. His composure was sitting on the thin ice right at the edge of a torrent, being relentlessly undermined by the rushing current of guilt and self loathing that he felt. Fat lot of good it did to be an empath – it did nothing toward teaching him to cope with emotions. Not the flood that raged outside him as people went about their daily lives, hating and loving, grasping and punishing... And not the ones that surged through his own heart and mind.

Of course Kyo thought that it was funny, the bets riding on who was 'shagging' whom. No doubt the Shinigami thought that sleeping with someone like him was laughable. Touch, yes. But never be intimately involved with because he was a dirty, dirty monster. Tsuzuki was blind, deaf and dumb to still hang around after all these years because no matter what they said or felt in the sanctuary of their bedroom, _he _knew what the world really thought of him, and he was a revolting monster for having done. . ._that _to his friend.

"You didn't let me finish," came the gentle reprimand and what Kyo said next made him wonder who was the empath – him or the other boy. "I find it funny because they're betting on something which I would sincerely love to experience, and can never have."

"Stop trying to make me feel better," Hisoka mumbled wretchedly. Defeated, he closed his Arithmancy text and shoved it away. There was no point to any of it any more. "I know what you're going to say: that I did what I had to do... that you were grateful because it could have been worse... But it is worse, Kyo. Don't you see? I had _no right_. Even I can see that much." Leaning forward, he planted his elbows on the polished walnut table and buried his face in his hands. Perversely, Hisoka felt a stab of release, of catharsis, in no longer hiding from the other boy, in no longer pretending that everything was just as it had been. Because it wasn't, and he was no good at pretending.

"No, you didn't," Kyo agreed in a mild voice and the tone was disproportionate to the pain caused by the words he uttered. Hisoka curled into himself, wishing that the chair would sink into the stone floors and swallow him whole. This was the wizarding world after all, where paintings talked and suits of armor moved. Surely a void opening suddenly beneath him was entirely plausible?

No such luck.

"You didn't have any right," Kyo continued softly, relentlessly and each word struck deeper, twisting his insides into something unidentifiable. "Because you belong to Tsuzuki and I to Takashi. So that also means that _I _don't have any right to do this."

The gentle touch of a hand carding through his gossamer hair shocked the young empath enough that he twisted out of his defensive crouch, whirling around in his seat only to be caught by the inexorable hold of eyes shadowed by something more than a dark curse that ate from the inside out. Along the heels of that hand that trailed an invisible course along his jaw, to rub his parted lips softly, came the other boy's memory of _pale cheeks stained a delicate pink, deep forest-dark eyes colored with rising lust and skilful hands that caused his body to cry out in response._

And damn his gift for not lying to him and instead telling that Kyo did speak the truth – that the only regret the dark Shinigami had was that only through a night of pain and tears and magic could he ever touch what he had longed for all this time, always admiring from a distance and never daring to lay a hand on because each belonged to another.

Those eyes that saw him as something beautiful and untouchable left him no wiggle room, no chance to prevaricate, for they knew his thoughts as intimately as their own. "Don't. Please- " But he couldn't decide if that wretched, begging sound meant _stop_, or... _don't stop._

His hand, traitorous, rose toward Kyo's face. His fingers ghosted along the smooth line of a jaw that would never grow old enough to prickle with a beard; damned like his own to be forever young. Or at least until his mind broke and he could no longer bear the twilight existence of a Shinigami. Hisoka was painfully aware that his hands would never become the broader, more muscular ones of his partner, nor the elegant length and strength of the sensei's. He focused on how they looked, blanched white against the clear skimmed milk of Kyo's skin, and tried to argue the sensations away with logic. "I'm not worth it. Don't you see? I'm not a normal person – I'm a _freak_. Got that? Just... a freak. I couldn't be what my family needed – a strong heir to step into the fight against Yatonogami. I couldn't stop Muraki from raping and cursing me. Worse, I couldn't stop him from... from... Tsuzuki..." His voice cracked, wobbling in two octaves and he swore viciously. The burn in his eyes was threatening to overflow and he resisted the urge to blink. "Tsuzuki always thinks he can fix everything. But he can't. My parents were right when they locked me away."

Kyo caught his trailing hand, small and delicate, with his own. He held the boy's hand surely, not tight enough to hurt, but enough to clearly convey that he would not be letting go any time soon.

"I told this to Harry once," Kyo began, "And I'll tell it to you now. You are a very selfish person, Hisoka. You don't have the right to carry all that burden of guilt. You did not ask for your empathy, nor did you want parents who didn't deserve that title in the first place. And as for Muraki. . . ." Kyo trailed off, breaking the eye contact he had initiated and he rubbed his cheek against the palm of Hisoka's still-trapped hand. "Then am I weak as well, for not being able to stop Akuma from doing what he did to me? To Takashi?" Unspoken between them was a dream that only the young empath had been spared of; of Takashi exacting his revenge and the price he had had to pay for it.

"Am I weak then, Hisoka? Was it my fault?"

The thin fingers caught between Kyo's cheek and palm spasmed. The reference to Akuma slid home like a knife blade between the ribs, and Hisoka could have kicked himself. He hadn't meant to imply that Kyo's torment was his own fault, nor to belittle Takashi's suffering. But even with that horrible mistake between them, he wasn't reading any kind of real disappointment or censure through their unwelcome bond, enhanced as it was by the contact of skin on skin to a point where he couldn't ignore it. Kyo truly believed what he was saying, both in his spoken words and in the underlying presence of his mind. Hisoka shook his head slightly, lost in confusion born of empathy and memory, of the past and present. An impulse that he couldn't define or comprehend made him do the unthinkable; rather than answer verbally, he projected his own chaotic feelings into their link.

Beneath a shattering layer of guilt was the desperate tangle of a child's hunger for love, and an intensely physical longing that flooded into the current between them. Wonder over the firm flesh that he had been allowed to caress hovered at the edges, refusing to be banished, and it added a specific poignancy because that opportunity was never likely to come again. A little boy, clad in a fine yukata of celadon green silk, kneeling on a stone floor, was starving for affection and for a simple touch, and it hurt to the very depths of his soul that he was _alone_. Choking, Hisoka scooted closer to the edge of his seat, to be nearer to the other boy, inadvertently kicking him in the ankle. Without conscious will, his free hand reached for the fringe of fine hair that lay on the nape of his friend's neck, and felt it, smooth and fine as silk under his fingertips. The sensation was so sharp that his hand jerked back, scorched by what it encountered. _Please, Kyo... _he begged silently, but 'please _what_' he couldn't have said.

Sighing softly, Kyo turned his head, just a slight motion, urging the return of the light caresses of fine fingers, still not letting go of the boy's other hand. _If you only know how beautiful you really are, Hisoka. . . _the unspoken thought was soft as a butterfly's wings, brushing the surface of his fraying shields, asking for permission and with a sense of wonder and dread, he allowed the protections to fall away.

And he saw himself.

He saw the way his hair lit like strands of fire, sitting by the window that overlooked the small herb garden Watari cultivated carefully, reading a book the younger Gushoushin had recommended and felt his heart ache with longing which he promptly buried under a playful smile and a teasing touch that threatened to snatch the book away if the blond Shinigami continued to ignore him.

He saw the way his forehead scrunched in a ferocious scowl, tone harsh and scolding, berating his older partner for eating too much chocolate again and in the next breath, handed the repentant-for-now Tsuzuki a mug of hot tea to soothe the tummy and he wondered whether the empath liked having chocolate sauce trickled across his skin and a hot, wet tongue languorously licking every coated inch.

He saw the way the forever sixteen Shinigami reach the morning's supply of doughnuts before Tsuzuki ever ambled into the break room, and saw how the boy would set aside several of the chocolate-filled doughnuts (his favourite) and wrap it carefully, knowing that if he didn't, Tsuzuki would finish everything and they _were _his favourite after all and the empath knew it too.

He saw that he was loved, without restriction.

Stunned, Hisoka tried – and failed – to master the tiny, sideways flinch, the instinctive tightening in his shoulders that subtly signaled his need for distance. Not that there was any hope of fleeing; the tide of thought and emotion that washed over and through him was as warm and transparent as a tropical ocean current. It buoyed him up, cradled him, and protected him from the hurt that tore at his heart's foundation. And that was undoubtedly for the best. Through his bond with Tsuzuki, the empath felt the older man's concern and knew that his life mate was a heartbeat away from abandoning small Professor Flitwick, who had cornered the older Shinigami, and charging off to the rescue. The thought centered Hisoka, gave him the strength to send a wordless pulse of reassurance even as he struggled to dampen the flow of feeling.

But that fragment of composure scattered when he realized that he was leaning into Kyo, bumping his knee against the other boy's hip. Through the gold haze of his lashes, he could see the determination and concern on his friend's features, and it sent a shiver down his spine. It was as impossible for empathy to lie as it was for the sun to rise in the west. Tentatively, he stroked the thoughts and memories curling around him, struggling to control the trembling that spread out from his centre.

_You love me...?_

An impish smile chased away the previously wistful tone. Kyo turned in his chair, so that they were both face to face and leaned forward, closing the distance between them slowly, watching carefully for signs of bolting from the empath. He stopped a bare inch from Hisoka, his nose just bumping the boy's and their breath mingling together.

"I do love you," he said quietly and with the non-distance between them, his lips brushed softly over Hisoka's as he spoke. "Even as I love Takashi and you love Tsuzuki, I love you." This close, Hisoka was, to describe it in the most disgustingly mushiest way possible, drowning in sapphire dark eyes and his breath caught, mouth parted when Kyo asked, tones practically reverent, "May I?"

_Oh, gods..._ His voice was gone. The only thing that came out of his mouth was pitiful whimper. _Please, Kyo... Touch me._ The whimper became a sob, and Hisoka felt his fingers clench into the smooth hair on the back of the young man's head. It must have pulled, must have _hurt_, but Kyo made no attempt to rescue those strands. Disoriented, the blond closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing in the sweet scent of chocolate and freshly washed skin that was so utterly unlike anyone else that he knew.

From the softest brush of skin on skin, Kyo captured Hisoka's pale pink lips, nudging the boy gently until they were in a more comfortable angle to truly enjoy the kiss.

_Oh, merciful Kannon..._ The thought derailed completely as Kyo's soft lips moved against his, worrying a bit at his lower lip, soothing the spot where he had bitten himself earlier. They were cooler than his own, dry and light as a dragonfly's wing, until they parted and Hisoka felt the warm humidity of Kyo's exhalation. A shiver wrenched through him, and his hand fled the soft clinging of Kyo's hair. His fingers scrabbled blindly over the turned spindled of the chair back at his side, seeking an anchor solid enough to keep him from reaching out in turn.

"Please, Kyo..." His whisper was harsh with the need to avoid attracting attention, half muffled against the other boy's mouth. They were in the damned _library_. There were people just a few aisles away, and that dragon of a librarian was at her desk near the doors. The Gushoushin had nothing on her when it came to terrorizing patrons into proper behaviour. Kyo did something... a tiny nibble, or a brief teasing touch with his tongue. Heat shot through Hisoka, lancing like a strike of lightning through his stomach and bones.

Turbulent memories swirled to the surface. A glittering, gem-sharp image of Kyo bucking into his devouring mouth, filling him with his bittersweet-salt flavor, collided with the vision of a narrow slice of sky that was all that could be seen through the tiny, high window of the cellar, as the cold floor numbed his knees and a child's clear, high voice lifted tremulously to sing.

_Kagome Kagome, _Kagome, Kagome,

_Kago no naka no tori wa, _When does the bird in the

_Itsu itsu deyaru? _Cage comes out?

_Yoake to ban ni. _At dawn and at evening.

And the bars of the cell melted away.

* * *

"Is there anything I should be aware of, Severus, before we enter his memories?" Dumbledore gestured towards the shallow basin on his desk, the engraved runes glowing softly. Swirls of thick white mist churned agitatedly inside, tendrils slipping free to let loose a distantly heard scream or a faraway sigh before sinking back into the roiling white mass.

His Potions Master spared a brief glance towards the Pensieve, a frown darkening his face. Severus said nothing for a while, black eyes glancing to the side, to Shiozaki who, contrary to past behaviour, was sitting alone in a narrow armchair nearest to Nigellus' portrait, watching his mate and colleagues on the couch. The high, flaring wings of the velvet-upholstered chair combined with a strange trick of the afternoon light wreathed the boy's face in shadows and he might have been mistaken for a petrified victim, if not for the slow rise and fall of his breathing.

"It will be unpleasant," the former Death Eater finally admitted. Severus had refused his offer of a seat before the sprawling mahogany desk, choosing to stand slightly to the left and at such an angle that the Headmaster had to tilt his head back to address the man properly. Such a placing and position was odd and one would have even ventured so far as to say that it was rather rude of the man, making his employer strain so just for a conversation. But it _did _offer the Headmaster a splendid opportunity to allow his gaze to stray a bit from the man's face to the large mirror that took up space above the fireplace, affording him a fantastic view of the other occupants in the office.

The old wizard allowed for the younger man's words to wash through him, even as he studied the other Japanese intently. Matsumada, Tsuzuki and Kurosaki were sitting together, the latter listening with a somewhat reddened face to Shiozaki's partner. Matsumada, his reddish brown hair clashing with his wan face and shadowed eyes nevertheless had a gentle smile, talking ever so earnestly to the boy. Dumbledore did not activate the ready listening spell he had placed in his office. Whatever it was the two of them were talking about, he felt it to be a private matter, one that he did not begrudge the Japanese, not after all that they've done for the school.

Not to mention the fact that they were talking in their native language. While he could have performed the Speak-All-Language charm on himself, there was the earlier courtesy of privacy that he had extended. And even should he wish to analyze their conversation later, if he did record it, spoken words were ephemeral substances – too easily destroyed and swallowed by echoes of the past. Only a Pensieve or a modified Remembrall such as the one Severus used for his spying could have recorded any conversation with accuracy, enough so that a translation could have been performed.

Continuing his observation, the Headmaster noted that whatever it was Matsumada and Kurosaki were talking about, it amused, or at least pleased Tsuzuki greatly. The guest professor kept a hand on the boy's lower back, thumb running slow, languid circles. Kurosaki was visibly startled when his partner laughed softly at something Matsumada said, shooting the older man an exasperated, yet fond look.

Dumbledore noted it with a small, happy smile; whatever it was Matsumada was obviously trying to convince Kurosaki about, it seemed to have worked. The wheat-gold head dipped briefly down, a shy smile on the usually so serious face, echoed on his partner's. All the same, the Headmaster choked on air when Matsumada leaned forwards and kissed Kurosaki on the lips.

". . .Albus?"

"Nothing, Severus, nothing," Dumbledore waved the young wizard's concern away. "Just swallowed a lemon drop the wrong way."

Severus' exasperated eye rolling told the amused Headmaster what the man thought of his excuse. Chuckling, the old man waved his hand, conjuring a plush armchair, telling his former spy just by his action that his services as an excuse were at an end for now. Dropping into the chair with a huff, the cynical man gave his employer and mentor a pointed look.

"Well?" Severus asked waspishly.

With an effort, Dumbledore pushed aside his simmering curiosity as to precisely what that was all about, in favour of focusing on essentials before his Potions Master succumbed to apoplexy. "I have been giving some thought to the report submitted by young Mr. Kurosaki. I am convinced of the accuracy of his observations, in that the Dark Lord has indeed been successful in recruiting ghouls, and one or more of the werewolf packs."

Long fingers drummed on an over-stuffed arm before stilling reluctantly on the upholstery. Severus gave a short, sour nod. "While I find no fault with his powers of observation - Morgana knows I would be overcome with joy if the regular students were capable of as much - I am still not convinced that Mr. Kurosaki truly grasps the significance of whatever it is that he believes he saw. For one thing, this matter of the Moonlight Potion that he refers to. It is notoriously difficult to make, limiting the number of possible sources. If it were possible to persuade the boy to submit to a similar viewing of his memories, then perhaps we could obtain confirmation, and thus have a more concrete direction in which to focus our investigation."

The Headmaster did not answer the man's well-thought out points. They had every reason to ask, no, demand a memory viewing from the young Japanese who outwardly bore no scars from his three days captivity in the hands of Tom Riddle and he readily acknowledged that.

"He did not inform me in so many words, Severus," Dumbledore said slowly, softly, tired eyes trained on the for once parchment-free blotter. His wrinkled fingers toyed absently with a quill, the iridescent, peach gold feather a gift from his own phoenix. "But there was no doubt that young Mr. Kurosaki was given. . .special attention by Lucius Malfoy."

His Potions Master drew breath sharply, leaning forwards to try and stare down the Headmaster. "Are you positive?" he hissed. "Even if Shiozaki and Kurosaki both are sure, they are foreigners and they do not know Lucius as I do. They could have been fooled by Polyjuice or even the Doppelganger Draft and—"

"Hestia has confirmed it. The poor wretch who took his place in Azkaban killed himself the moment they took him for questioning. He had secreted upon himself a poison pill, fashioned in the form of a false tooth." The old wizard sighed. "A most ingenious method. I was informed by Hestia that it's a favored means among Muggle spies, to ensure their master's confidentiality."

Severus' dark, glittering eyes blinked once, before the man himself sank back in his chair looking deceptively at ease. A long, tense minute passed in silence before-

"Lucius is the Dark Lord's most trusted lieutenant besides myself, when I still held his confidence," Severus murmured, fingers again tapping a restless tattoo. "His cunning and intelligence is an asset and a boon to the Dark Lord. And his interrogation methods. . .acknowledged as the most effective and ruthless among us, even more so than Lestrange's, who often allowed her emotions to get in the way."

The white head nodded slowly, blue eyes sorrowful. "You see why I would rather not force Mr. Kurosaki to a Pensieve viewing. He is only sixteen years old, Severus."

"And Potter, a mere pup," he snapped back.

Cut to the quick, the Headmaster accepted the rebuke with a bowed head.

"Cease with your Gryffindor sentimentality, Albus." Sneering, not a little amount of discomfort evident on the sallow features, the former Death Eater shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It irked the man that he could face the Dark Lord and play the once discarded guise of faithful Death Eater with ease but in front of this man, he would revert again into a young wizard discomfited to realise that the adults weren't all-knowing and all-powerful. "We are at war and sacrifices must be made," he allowed grudgingly. That won a fleeting, wan smile from Dumbledore.

"Indeed," the Headmaster answered, voice still low and soft. He snuck a glance to the still silent Japanese sitting by himself. "From what you've told me, Mr. Shiozaki's alone would be unpleasant enough. Maybe I am getting too old for this, Severus, but I find myself reluctant to ask more from those who have given so much, to a cause not their own."

"You talk as though they are our saviours, Albus," Severus hissed darkly, eyes darting to the side, ensuring that the other office's occupants were otherwise engaged. "You forget that they are still less than forthcoming with their purpose. True, they have helped us but let's not forget the fact that their being here has tipped the balance! Who knows what the Dark Lord has been driven to do, to tilt the scales back in his favour."

Shaking his head, Dumbledore answered, "I am not as foolish as that, Severus. But neither can I deny that they are our allies. Even more so now that Tom has made the most grievous error of harming one of their own. You have seen it with your own eyes; they are bound to each other and Tom's actions have ensured that they would do their all to exact retribution."

"Vigilantes and fools."

"Allies, and fresh ideas and resource," he corrected. "I am not so far gone as to willingly blind myself to our allies' secretiveness but neither am I about to turn away any help offered."

Severus looked ready to protest, if the furious emotion in his dark eyes was any indication and Dumbledore held an aged hand up. "Patience, dear man. I-" the Headmaster broke off, startled but not surprised by the small pressure he felt - the gargoyle guarding his office entrance had been opened by a password and the magical signature he felt was one he was familiar with, accompanied by others. Dumbledore's chest felt tight then. The coming confrontation would not be pretty and already he dreaded it.

"Harry and his friends are on their way up," he said quietly, but apparently not quietly enough. Even as his Potions Master jumped to his feet in a swirl of black robes, face already pulled in a ferocious scowl, the Japanese had fallen silent, looking to the door expectantly. Shiozaki stayed where he was, the only indication of his awareness was of his head tilting back to rest against the back of the chair, hands laced together in his lap.

"Headmaster."

The old and suddenly very weary wizard felt all too keenly the burden of his years. Young Harry Potter stood in his office, back ramrod straight, emerald eyes shining so brightly with power and determination. Oh, how he resembled his mother so much then-! More than just the eyes, but a strength clearly felt; one born of stacked odds and trials no one, least of all a child, should have faced. His friends: Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley and Ginerva Weasley stood behind him, lending silent support to the boy. For like his mother, and like James Potter as well, Harry drew others to him, people who would and have gladly died for him. A gift the young, burdened wizard hated but had been given all the same.

"Harry, Ronald, Hermione and dear Ginny," he nodded. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?"

The Boy-Who-Lived swept his gaze around the office, taking in the Japanese who watched the students silently, Severus glowering malevolently and Shiozaki, who made no move to acknowledge the boy he and his partner had practically adopted.

"Professor Tsuzuki-"

Dumbledore felt a pinprick of worry. Why the hesitation? Had something happened between the two? He glanced between them, finding nothing in either's blank, careful faces.

"—informed me that there was to be a meeting today, to discuss our next move."

The Headmaster leaned back in his seat, sighing. "We are, and we will," he said cautiously, and sensing an upcoming denial, a furious storm started to brew in the depths of Harry's too-expressive eyes. "But later, Harry. Right now, myself, Professor Snape and the rest," he indicated the Japanese, "are having a private meeting."

"Why?" Harry asked sharply. "To discuss what you're going to keep secret from me?" The harsh, bitter tone jarred, and the young wizard's friends shifted awkwardly on their feet. None had overlooked the fact that the usually kindly Headmaster had not offered them seats and refreshments.

Dumbledore took off his half-moon glasses, rubbing the lenses with a handkerchief, sighing again before putting the glasses back on. _Do I have to wonder still, how much I've damaged his trust in me with my past actions? _"Harry, please. We were not planning such. Professor Snape himself has assured me of the strength of your Occlumency-" the man mentioned shot him a glare at the implied praise in his wording, "-and I have confidence in your abilities as well. We are not questioning your integrity or your rightful place in this war, but for this, I am afraid that we must deny your participation."

Again, the Boy-Who-Lived rapped out, "Why? Why else would—"

"Morgana's bastards, boy!" Severus finally erupted. He stalked up to the defiantstudent and his friends who kept their silence yet showed their support with rebellious glowers. And as dear Ms. Granger paled slightly at such seditious behaviour beforea figure of authority, the former Death Eater turned spy dripped malice and scorn from every word that left his thin lips. "Is it any wonder, that I think you an arrogant brat? Time and again you prove yourself _incapable _of listening to your betters, of bowing before those who are vastly more knowledgeable than you—"

"Just like you bowed to Voldemort?" Harry broke in and immediately paled, realizing his error too late.

Deathly silence gripped the room, till even Fawkes eyed them warily, when—

"Fool Gryffindor." Even Dumbledore winced at the venom-laced insult. "So you've faced the Dark Lord and survived. So you've stood up to the most feared Dark wizard of all time."

As much as his old heart ached, Dumbledore did not step in and halt the escalating animosity. The young man he loved like his own had proved that he was no glass figurine to be wrapped in cotton wool – look how his efforts to keep the Boy-Who-Lived a child just a bit longer proven disastrous! Harry Potter had demanded a place, his rightful place in the war effort and despite an old man's misgivings, the Headmaster had caved in. And to prove his mettle against those who would use his age against him, Dumbledore must swallow his grief for allowing more burdens to be added to thin shoulders. Harry must learn to fight his own battles.

". . .Does that make you all-powerful, all-knowing, all-_mighty_, oh brave Gryffindor?"

Harry paled further yet he kept his silence, fists clenched tightly by his sides. The spitefully gleeful professor leaned closer, almost purring as he said, "And by virtue of your most august personage, who are we to question your wisdom when you have proved your infallibility? After all, you can so easily get someone else to die in your place due to your mistakes, can't you, _Potter?_"

_That was too far, Severus!_ The Headmaster rose to his feet, a frown gathering his bushy white eyebrows. Harry's friends had broken out in a babble of righteous anger, yet the young man himself was strangely composed, though his face was too pale and he stared straight into the expectant face of one Severus Snape. Both onyx gaze and emerald refused to give way.

_Oh Harry, oh my poor boy. What have I done to you?_

But before he could intervene, even as Fawkes started to trill a soothing tune to calm ruffled feathers as it were, a quiet voice cut through the noise like a charmed knife through butter.

"Children, behave."

Dumbstruck, they stared at Shiozaki who, as far as the Headmaster could make out from the concealing hood of shadows, merely smiled at their looks of bemusement and in Severus' case, of annoyance. Dumbledore cleared his throat, sitting back down. "Severus," he began calmly. "You go too far." Rebuked, the dark man flinched before subsiding with ill humor into his earlier vacated chair with an annoyed thump. Frowning, Dumbledore nevertheless informed Harry, "It was Mr. Shiozaki's wish as well, that you and your friends do not participate in this part of the meeting, Harry."

Shocked, the boy's eyes widened before he whirled around. "Kyo-! Why—"

"Harry-kun." Faster than the assembled wizards could have thought, Matsumada had blocked Harry's way, a hand pressed against the boy's chest gently. "It is for your own good, Harry-kun."

Mollified by the use of the familiar endearment attached to his name, Harry turned pleading eyes upon the guest professor who sighed, face seeming to sag further still in bone-deep fatigue. "Kyo has been cursed by Vold- forgive me Professor Snape- the Dark Lord. You know that." Taking in Harry, and the other young wizard and witches' nods, Matsumada continued. "We are going to. . .review Kyo's memory of the ritual V- the Dark Lord enacted to try and figure out a counter-curse. It won't be a pleasant undertaking, Harry-kun. That is why Kyo refuses to have you here for this."

"But," Harry pleaded, "I want to help! I don't want to be kept in the dark! Not like last time!" Dumbledore flinched at the indirect barb. "I'm not a child anymore, Takashi! You can't keep me protected forever!"

Before Matsumada could answer, Shiozaki again said simply, "It is none of your business, Harry-kun."

Harry recoiled as if struck, Matsumada's grip on his forearm preventing him from stumbling back in his shock.

"Forgive Kyo's abruptness," his mate sighed. "The curse is wreaking havoc with his immune system, as well as his magical core. But what he said is true to a certain extent, Harry-kun. What virtue could be gained in allowing you to see the Dark Lord's perversity? You already know of his cruelty. Why add more?"

The boy shook off the guest professor's hand, stepping to the side to better glare at Shiozaki. "Because you're my friend," he bit out. "I want to be there for you. Like you were for me. Is that so wrong?"

Dumbledore held out a wrinkled hand in entreaty. "Harry, please," he started softly. "Understand that we are not doing this-" he broke off with a frustrated sigh. Again came the warning that the gargoyle had been accessed, and three strong magical signatures were on their way up. "Harry," he said simply.

Haunted eyes met his before sooty black lashes swept down, veiling the storm of emotions within.

_I'm so sorry my boy. I'm so sorry you had to learn too fast that we adults are fallible. That we fall and we take others down with us when we do. I'm so sorry._

There was only the briefest of a courtesy knock on the inner door before it swung open, the students scrambling out of the way and crowding the Japanese' side of the room. Remus, followed by the Transfiguration Mistress and Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody walked, or in Moody's case, stumped in.

The werewolf brushed back graying brown hair, looking somewhat distracted. "I'm sorry we're late, Headmaster, there-" Remus blinked, belatedly realising the somewhat full office. Frowning, the Defense professor shot the Headmaster a puzzled look. Why wasn't he told that they decided to allow Harry admittance into this part of the meeting? "Are we intruding?" he asked cautiously. Heightened senses warned of the tension, an uncomfortable prickling sensation over his skin. He could smell too, the roiling emotions bleeding into the air and it made his nose twitch.

Before anyone could answer him, Harry pushed past Takashi who reluctantly gave way, stopping before a shadowed armchair that the werewolf realised contained the one they had come here for: Shiozaki. Takashi's mate.

"I know that it's not always about me," Harry said quietly, ignoring the fact that he and Kyo were the center of attention. He knelt before the seated figure, his smaller hands clenching Shiozaki's lax ones tightly. "You taught me that. But I don't want to step back when it's convenient and close my eyes when it gets too ugly. I want to be there for you. And Hisoka," he added, slanting an unreadable glance to the boy's way. Hisoka and Harry locked stares, seeming to share a conversation none in the room was privy to. "If," Harry continued softly, "the both of you would let me."

He didn't know what just happened but, he blinked rapidly, needing to look away and get his bearings back. Harry had grown up so well, and he had missed it. Again. Just like he had missed all those years when the only son of a Marauder had to grow up in a loveless home and discover his own heritage through books and friends.

The lycanthrope shook his head, forcibly putting a halt on such melancholic thoughts. There would be a time later for such maudlin activity.

With a rustle of cloth, Shiozaki leaned forwards, losing the concealment of shadows and Remus flinched, grimacing at the almost palpable aura of Darkness around the boy. This was different than the 'taint' that had seen Severus advocating their ejection from the school. This was a Darkness that was beyond the balance to Light. It was a corruption.

Takashi's young partner murmured, "I'm sorry, Harry-kun. But I can't. Not this time. Because if I let in anyone else, I might as well start selling tickets. Two for the price of one perhaps?" Shiozaki's bitter, twisted smile was something unexpected in such a young face and Remus caught Kurosaki stiffening, looking almost ashamed until a quick, reproving glance from Shiozaki himself made the boy gather his usual stoic composure.

What Takashi's partner said next made the hairs at the back of his neck rise, a wave of goose bumps prickling his skin. The lycanthrope blamed his recent transformation for the ominous warning that twisted his insides, for the baseless fear that Shiozaki's words were a warning. Or a prophecy.

"There will be plenty more chances for you to prove your friendship, Harry-kun."

He shook himself again, mouth dry. Takashi had said that they were here to help.

Right?

* * *

If there was one thing that Kurosaki Hisoka hated more than insane albino doctors, crimson moons and Tsuzuki on a sugar rush, it was crowds.

Enma, how he hated crowds.

It wasn't just the physical proximity of too many individuals but the constant bombardment on his empathy. A mortal alone was easy enough, provided he or she wasn't panicking fit to be tied. Two was uncomfortable. Three could make him twitch, and more than that. . .Tsuzuki had learned what that particular ferocity of his glare meant and always took the appropriate evasive manoeuvres.

The headmaster's circular office was in danger of overcrowding – it was already hard enough to maintain a pleasant (well, blank, to be truthful) countenance with the headmaster radiating a nauseating mix of concern and suspicion, and Snape, of distrust and pity. And all of this underscored by the low-level dread emanating from all of his friends, Takashi especially, and it threatened to cause nausea.

Distracted from his discomfort by Takashi's quiet gratitude for resolving the. . .'issues' he had with Kyo earlier, it took Dumbledore's calm greeting for him to realise that Harry and his friends had decided to add on to his threatening migraine.

As the drama unfolded, the seemingly young empath kept his gaze trained on the stubborn boy whom he knew without a doubt, thanks to his empathy with a mild dose of telepathic skills, had chosen to sit in the narrowest, hardest armchair the office had, precisely because his back ached something fierce. The dark haired Shinigami needed something firm to rest it against and a cramp was twisting his thigh muscles painfully. It was unlike Kyo to get cramps so easily, Shinigami healing factor aside, and it made Hisoka uneasy as to the implications it held. He shifted in his seat, the velvet upholstery getting uncomfortably warm to his sensitized skin but stilled in annoyance when he sensed the unnerving eye of that man, Alastor Moody, settle on him.

He couldn't deny that his mood currently wasn't the best. A large part of it was irritation; an unhealthy amount directed inwards, mixed with near-equal parts fury, shame and a determination to see things through. Kyo might have forgiven him, might even treasure what had passed between them in some perverse way, but that would have no bearing on just how painful dealing with the reactions of everyone else was going to be. He was a Kurosaki, and _Kurosaki do not beg, nor admit to failure_, he reminded himself his family's credo firmly.

As though sensing the rather ominous turn his thoughts were taking, Kyo swivelled his head around, the once winter-sky eyes locking with his. The two of them ignored the others, even as the Shinigami empath ignored the swirls of emotions that ran the gamut from pride, to envy, to resentment and even love; most of it directed at or caused by the young wizard who had proclaimed his determination to stand by friend's side so staunchly. Still refusing to break the eye contact, Kyo lifted a thin eyebrow, an unspoken question in his feverishly bright eyes.

Hisoka glared, a wordless reprimand shining clear for Kyo's rather thoughtless warning to Harry. Was Kyo trying to blow their cover or something? Unrepentant, the black haired Shinigami shrugged slightly, ignoring the intense scrutiny he was held under by the very same wizard they were discussing silently.

Kyo was going to say something, the empath knew with annoyed certainty. Possibly along the lines of, _'Stop brooding you stupid idiot', _as Kyo had always been fond of ignoring tact when the mood struck but as fickle luck had it, Takashi inadvertently intervened. The former sensei crouched on the floor by his koi's side, murmuring into the younger man's ear.

Scowling, Kyo shook his head once, twice, before finally getting exasperated enough to jab his mate in the ribs.

"Kyo," he was reprimanded by the auburn-haired Shinigami.

"Taka," Kyo mocked, but relented under the stern gaze levelled at him. "Fine, I'll rest," he groused but quickly added, "But not sleep. I've slept enough to last me three lifetimes," he grumbled.

"All right," Takashi acquiesced. "Harry-kun? Will you make sure he does that?"

The mentioned wizard nodded slowly, looking not at the sensei who had made the request, but at Dumbledore who returned his gaze serenely.

"We will keep you apprised of our progress with the curse-breaking, Harry," the old wizard iterated gently. "And do not think that we would ignore your council for the Order's plans for the future. But for now, as Mr. Shiozaki has requested. . ."

Expressive green eyes widening, Harry shot a quick glance around the office. Hisoka frowned; that look implied surprise, as did a clear shot of that very emotion zapping the surface of his shields. Harry hadn't expected the headmaster to. . .?

"Yes, our guests are aware of the Order's existence."

Ah.

The aged, canny wizard smiled at the flustered Boy-Who-Lived, bright blue eyes twinkling madly. "And yes, we're aware that you kept the Order's confidence remarkably well, Harry."

Seemingly ignorant of the derisive snort from a certain Potions Master's corner, the young wizard ducked his head, a faint blush reddening the tips of his ears. With Kyo grumbling under his breath, and struggling to get to his feet, Harry quickly abandoned his embarrassment, helping the taller Japanese to rise. Kyo winced when he put pressure on his left leg, the one with the cramp, and Hisoka forcibly held back the urge to stand by his friend's side and help. Kyo was probably exaggerating anyway – his best friend of thirty years would descend to much lower in his schemes to make Hisoka do as he wanted.

"Kyo?" Takashi asked quietly.

His partner's answer was short and abrupt; Hisoka managed to restrain a wince. His empathy clearly picked up on the beginnings of a bright, frazzled sort of pain starting to leak through the dark haired Shinigami's shields.

All right, so Kyo probably wasn't exaggerating.

But he _wouldn't _back out from the Pensieve-viewing, dammit.

"I'm fine." Somehow, Kyo managed to make it look as though he chose to hold on to Harry, rather than needing the support lest he fell on his face. At that very familiar, mulish attitude reasserting itself, the blond Shinigami's lips quirked in a faint smile. Tsuzuki too, was clearly amused if the laughing quip delivered in Japanese was any indication. Kyo's infantile reaction – sticking out his tongue – only made Hisoka's partner laugh harder.

"Mr. and Ms. Weasley, Ms. Granger," Dumbledore nodded to the students. "If you would excuse us?"

Flushing under the combined scrutiny of the adults in the office, the Hogwarts' students gathered around their leader, though Hermione made the mistake of crowding too close to Kyo, eliciting a very pointed comment. Sniping at each other back and forth, Kyo only ceased fire when he reached the once again glaring-at-the-world-for-existing empath.

"'Soka. . .?" Head cocked to the side, Hisoka tried not to flush himself under the weight of those darkened eyes. Arms crossed over his chest, the fair haired Shinigami stared defiantly back.

A slow blinking, answered by a deeper scowl and Kyo sighed, resigned. His friend nodded and before leaving, gave a polite bow of the head to everyone in the room. The door closed shut behind the small entourage, silence gripping the occupants of the office – human, Shinigami and paintings alike – before Fawkes, the phoenix, trilled softly.

"For the sake of our guests, I will explain how a Pensieve works."

The empath gathered himself, straightening up. Years of practice made it easy for him to blank his face of emotions and he did so. Takashi who was by his side visibly squared his shoulders, expressive lips now a thin, white line. The jolt through his chest then was guilt, and Hisoka did not deny it. He had failed more than Kyo; he had failed Takashi as well.

Dumbledore tapped the grey, stone bowl on his desk with a wand, the white mist contained inside softly agitated. "This is a magical device used to store and view memories. It allows one to review an incident or a recollection from a distance, as the Pensieve muffles the emotions within. It is particularly useful when used to study stressful or highly charged memories."

The frank and candid explanation was an unexpected comfort and before he could help himself, Hisoka was leaning forwards, trying to make out of the incised runes circling the stone bowl. The swirled patterns of arcane alphabets didn't make sense – he could only recognise one or two from his recent readings. _Feh_, he shrugged. What use trying to read it anyway, when he didn't know jack shit about Western runes?

But what the headmaster said about muffled emotions. . .would it work the same for his empathy? He frowned; that would require telling these _gaikokujin _of his abilities and he worried about the ramifications of that particular revelation. It didn't help that Takashi had inadvertently slipped his hand, going so far as to threaten the Headmaster with his own ability to manipulate magic.

What would these wizards say, when they discover that his friend, cursed by the Dark Lord, was one who could control the four basic elements of life? Kyo had confided that Snape's reaction had been less than pleased. What of the werewolf? That suspicious ex-Auror, Moody?

A voice at the back of his head, sounding suspiciously like Tatsumi, pointed out matter-of-factly: would it matter? The choice was out of his hands. The only real secret they had left to themselves were their real identities (oh yeah, did we mention that we're not human?) and their real purpose here.

Before he could ask, the Headmaster was gently ordering everyone else to stand up and step back from his large, mahogany desk. The wizards and Shinigami complied uneasily, trepidation over the upcoming viewing evident in their strained posture, and even Snape's usual sneer had lost some of its edge. They gathered together before the closed office door, Dumbledore going around his desk and waving his wand in a lazy arc over his head. The sudden rumbling of stone alarmed most of them, Hisoka and the others instinctively going for their 'fuda, but it only turned out to be an enlargement spell; the circular office expanding to five times its previous size.

"Think of the renovation costs we could save on, if we use this spell back home," Takashi murmured under his breath and Hisoka had to crack a smile at that. True, the fearsome Shokan Secretary would gladly embrace Western wizardry if it meant cutting back on their budget.

"Tatsumi would get an orgasm right on the spot," he returned and only after the words left his lips did he feel the urge to hit himself over the head. _Great job there, you idiot. Remind the man of what he's going to witness._

But the former sensei shot him a warm smile. Too warm, because he didn't deserve it.

A whisper of awareness skimmed the bare surfaces of his shields – unerringly, the empath caught his husband's gaze.

Unnaturally colored eyes were hooded, that cheerful face fallen in a carefully schooled expression of neutrality, mirrored in like by the higher than normal shields. But more than thirty years of partnership allowed him to look past surface impressions when his gift failed and what he saw was this: the way Tsuzuki had his fist in the pocket of his slacks, clenched around a handful of his ofudas, how tension straightened his shoulders from his usual slouch and how just the faintest lines marred the corners of a forever twenty-six year old man's eyes.

His husband didn't want him here. Plain and simple.

_Well, tough_, he snarled silently and he broke off the staring contest. Dammit, the man _knew _why he was here, why he would. . .willingly subject himself to the memory viewing. He owed Kyo that much. Never mind what the pale-looking Shinigami had said of imagined sins, he would pay his penance in full.

"Severus, Remus, Minerva and Alastor," Dumbledore broke into his thoughts. "You know what to do. Take note of what you can as we will need your expertise in formulating a counter-curse. My friends," he nodded his white head to the Japanese, "Mr. Kurosaki, any help you can provide would be most appreciated."

At their murmured assent, the old wizard nodded his head again, Fawkes the phoenix singing a short tune. Braced somewhat by the magical bird's help, the assembled wizards, witch and onmyouji waited.

"_Amplificare!_" Dumbledore cried out and blue-white sparks arced out from his wand, striking the roiling surface of the Pensieve with a fizzle of magic. The contents of the bowl shot up in a geyser of white fog-like substance and spilled over the sides, pouring over the desk to splash on to the stone and carpeted floor. Before long, the entire office was covered, their feet lost in the soupy mist.

Tense, Hisoka eyed the substance warily, unsure of what would happen next. As though answering his trepidation, the contents of the Pensieve started to churn, a small whirlpool forming in the center.

Dumbledore raised his wand again and intoned, "Begin."

White mist exploded.

Blinking the afterimages away rapidly, Hisoka raised his head, absently astonished to find himself somewhere beyond the ancient walls of Hogwarts and back in a cavernous room of marble and gold. He flinched automatically, stepping back and an arm half-raised in self-defense before he remembered.

Pensieve. All, just that – a remembrance.

"Enma," Tsuzuki by his side muttered in awe. "An amazing spell. Did you feel that?" his husband asked no one and everyone. "We're actually in our own pocket dimension."

"Yes, precisely," Dumbledore's congenial tones was laced with faint pride. "The Pensieve when used in this format literally carves its own dimension in time and space, thus allowing for the manipulation of the memories it contains."

"Shall we leave the classroom explanation to some other time, Headmaster?" Snape asked waspishly. Hisoka glanced aside; the man was crouched by the outer edge of a familiar construct, a floating roll of parchment and a quill by his side. The dark man resumed his low mutterings, the quill rapidly skimming the surface of the parchment, taking down his observations faithfully.

The glint of gold, overlaying the warm tones of honey-amber and pristine white marble snagged his attention with morbid, horrified fascination. The last time he had been in this room, physically, he had been too terrified and in too much pain to take everything in save as hurried snatches. Now, with his husband by his side a warm, comforting presence, the various wizards and witch huddling together and taking notes, he could afford to detach himself and study his surroundings.

Thirteen gold pillars were ranged around them, elaborately woven tapestries depicting astrological symbols hanging between, with a large, stained glass window taking place of pride. He tore his eyes away from the mesmerising pattern of roses and dragons, to the gold-worked runes, _Norse_, his mind supplied, etched into the floor.

He recognised several, and the implications of the few that he was familiar with were enough to take his breath away.

Uruz; the rune for strength. But this squared-off 'U' was inverted, its meaning turned opposite. Weakness. To sap the strength from a person, to drain their will and leave them open.

Ansuz; Odin's symbol. Also inverted, the rune was used to draw out the darkness within the spirit, to let it consume ones thoughts. Coupled with the reversed Uruz, anyone caught in their power would be drained of all will and strength, susceptible to any influence pressed upon them.

Wunjo; possession.

The rest were meaningless jumbles but just the bare few he could identify was enough to turn his stomach. Kyo was right, the empath realised with dawning terror. Voldemort meant to turn his friend into a weapon, but only after totally destroying the dark haired Shinigami.

"Headmaster."

McGonagall's clipped, precise voice snapped him out of his dark reverie and he shuddered, thankful for it. Enough that when Tsuzuki surreptitiously placed an arm around his thin shoulders, he accepted it, drawing strength from the man's presence gratefully.

The Transfigurations Mistress was inside the construct itself, standing by memory-Kyo's side, the young man oblivious to the future spectators, slumped and miserable in his ensorcelled net of hairs. McGonagall ignored the boy, though Hisoka could detect the faint horror in her eyes. She gestured to Kyo's bare feet, pinked he guessed, by the coldness of the marble. He ought to know. He had lain naked on it himself.

"Do you see this, Albus?" the deputy Headmistress pointed. The rest drawing closer, they could see what it was that drew her attention. Right under Kyo's feet was a single, dominating rune – a jagged, angular 'H'.

"Hagalaz," Dumbledore identified it softly.

The brush of robes, thick cotton, against his side brought Hisoka's attention to the previously silent figure of Takashi. In the cold light of the burning torches from the golden pillars, the older man looked too pale, his hair a disturbingly vivid shade of old, dried blood.

"What does it mean?" he asked quietly, though his eyes were fixed on his mate's form, ignoring everything else.

Dumbledore sighed. "Hagalaz is the rune of annihilation. Specifically, the destructive powers of nature." The old wizard sighed again, a wrinkled hand stealing under his half-moon glasses to rub his eyes wearily. "When Severus told me about your partner's ability, I had hoped that he was mistaken." A snort answered him and he sent the affronted wizard an apologetic smile. "Think of it as an old man's reluctance, Severus, nothing more."

"Shiozaki's ability, Albus?" Moody snapped. His peg leg thumped the marble floor once and Hisoka was distantly perturbed to hear the faint ringing; as though they really were there, with memory-Kyo who was undoubtedly drowning in fear, if his hunched shoulders and too-wide pupils were anything to go by.

The shock of his realization then was enough to almost drown out the Headmaster's reply.Dumbledore was right; the Pensieve _did _muffle emotions, specifically, emotions of the one whose memory the vision originated from. He hadn't really believed the old man when he said it but the proof was there. He could just barely feel Kyo's despair and, more than slightly ashamed, he was grateful for it. The young blond had enough to deal with from the others.

"Forgive me," Dumbledore murmured. "The excitement and the need for haste did not allow me to share this new information with all of you." He nodded to the werewolf, the ex-Auror and the frowning witch. He took out his wand again and did a little jiggle and wave – the memory froze.

_He pressed the 'pause' button_, Hisoka was almost amused to note.

His wide gesture encompassed the gold pillars, the tapestries, the slate lab bench cluttered with Potion paraphernalia, the rune-covered floor and the boy hanging immobile. "Shiozaki informed Severus that the ritual was to dedicate himself as the Vessel of the Four Elements, using Shiozaki's own _prima materia. _This rune lends credence to it."

Lupin edged closer, shooting the once-again silent Takashi a worried frown. "Vessel of the Four Elements?" he repeated dubiously. "Why?"

"Use your head, werewolf!" Snape barked. The professor was by the lab bench, noting by hand each glass and ceramic piece of equipment with another parchment and quill while the first enchanted feather faithfully sketched the construct in elaborate detail. "To judge by the pattern and order of the runes," he continued in a less irate tone, "The Dark Lord is using either Ruland's or Maier's theory on subjugating the mortal's spirit. Even his setup here shows the workings for a _contricio phasmatis_, possibly to supplement the _Quinta Essentia_. The Dark Lord means to own Shiozaki, spirit and body, and yes, precisely because the idiot boy is an Elemental Mage!"

Caught bemused by the Potions Master's sudden plunge into ire again, Lupin blinked as the incensed man jabbed a quill in his direction. "Creating a counter for his curse will be hard enough without your ceaseless nattering, werewolf! Relying on the victim's memory is always notoriously difficult; we have to depend on Shiozaki's ability to recall as much detail as possible and considering the foolish boy is too lost in misery—"

The accusing feather made a wide sweep of the black slate lab bench. Now that it was brought to their attention, Hisoka frowned to realise that despite the initial impression, the edges and some of the details of the memory were fuzzy, lacking complete detail. What had caused such irritation on the Potions Master's part was that not only was the alchemical setup too far from where Kyo was held for him to memorize the apparatus and materials, what he remembered were hazy and indistinct. The same went for the incised marble flooring and the tapestries. Oddly enough, the stained glass window directly facing his friend was startlingly complete and richly detailed.

Morbidly pleased, the former Death Eater continued his tirade against a rather bemused lycanthrope. "Now cease your peasant's ignorance and use what little mind you have left that has yet to disintegrate and _take note! _Do not leave out anything! The construct and the potions are mine, yours are to note the exact position of the stars and planets. Do not miss a _single _alignment change, Lupin or I _will _have werewolf pelt to place before my hearth!

"Minerva! The tapestries and glass, they are of particular importance to the ritual. Try to find out why," Snape continued and his sneer deepened upon locking eyes with the grizzled ex-Auror. "And you, try to stay out of our way."

"Severus." He was reprimanded by the Headmaster gently. "Calm yourself."

"And who says I'm not, Albus?"

From then on, the scene became something like that of a lab study. Dumbledore did his magic trick again, and the frozen scene resumed its interrupted play, though Kyo did nothing more than to sag into the deadly embrace of the ensorcelled hair. Muffled emotions aside, something inside the young empath rebelled at seeing his best friend brought down so low, and there was nothing he could do about it because the past had been set.

His friend would be, _was _struck down even further. And he had helped.

The wizards and lone witch were busy conferring together, the werewolf performing a past _tempus _spell at intervals. But the spell was different than the usual; instead of just the time, it showed in ghostly arrangements the constellations that rode the nadirs, the vaporous pictures twisting and changing as the stars changed position. Squinting, Hisoka could make out what appeared to bePerseus.

Catching the empath's eye, Remus smiled absently, still jotting down notes on a conjured parchment. "My affliction allows me greater intimacy and familiarity with moon phases and the various movements of the heavenly bodies," he explained gently. The tone was comfortingly classroom reminiscent, and it brought some measure of consolation that something so mundane could still take place there and then.

"Minerva," Moody called out gruffly. The aged wizard dropped to his one good knee, the wooden stump that was his other leg expertly stretched out for better balance. The man's magical eye was fixed unerringly on the etched construct, his wand tapping the floor thoughtfully. "The Hagalaz; is it on its side?"

The Scottish witch frowned, quill hovering over her own notes and sketches. "The Hagalaz is an absolute. It cannot be reversed, you know that Alastor. . ." trailing off, they watched as she sidled closer to the memory-Kyo, crouching delicately by his feet. With a sharp gasp, the witch announced, "Whatever your suspicions are, Alastor, you're possibly correct. The rune is on its side and. . .Albus! Do you see this?"

The summoned Headmaster hurried by her side, both studying the floor keenly before the white head nodded grimly. "Yes, the border is inscribed with reversed Kenaz, four of them. Alastor, what do you think? Is Tom doing what I think he is? It would fit with the arrangement of the circle and triangle. Orthodox alchemy would have seen the circle of eternity encompassing the triangle, the sign of absolute femininity but. . ." Getting to his feet with a speed that belied his aged appearance, the Headmaster quickly backed out of the construct to take in the entirety before nodding. "Yes, it all points to him imposing his will upon young Shiozaki—"

"And he used Thurisaz to anchor it," Moody added gruffly. Brushing off his robes, the scarred face was pulled into a ferocious scowl. "Old Tommy boy's a genius in alchemy, that can't be doubted. I've seen ritual-based works that would give you nightmares for sheer horror but this wins hands down. It's not enough that he's imposing his will upon the boy, Albus, but he's doing it in such a way that Shiozaki will be forced to expend his entire life force should Riddle want it. He's turned the boy into a ticking time bomb and he expects us to play the good Samaritan and rescue him."

The air felt heavy. Thick and suffocating before Lupin reluctantly said, "Their escape. . .it was planned, wasn't it? He _wanted _us to rescue them." The werewolf nodded to Hisoka who stared stonily back, amber eyes filled with sorrow. "He wants us to destroy ourselves even as we try to save Kyo."

An uncomfortable silence befell them, the shuffling of feet and robes inhumanely loud. Only Snape seemed oblivious, muttering feverishly under his breath as he prowled the perimeters of the memory, religiously taking in every hazy feature. When none of the Shinigami, even Takashi, appeared inclined to say anything, the mortals exchanged inscrutable looks before resuming their study of the memory.

Inscrutable, that is, for anyone not an empath.

Since the Pensieve muffled only the emotions of the memory's originator, he could still sense clearly those of the others and their pity grated on his nerves, their suspicions curdling his stomach and their dread icing his blood. Already, one of them was seriously debating the benefit of this so-called alliance between the Japanese and British wizards.

Moody's thoughts were clear – why should they save this Asian boy when it would mean sacrificing important time, resources, exposing more of the Order to danger and ultimately, possibly sacrificing themselves to save one boy?

Could he blame the ex-Auror for thinking that? After all, it was easy to ignore something you do not care about save through the basic compassion all humans were born with. Easy to ignore that the trapped boy before them would face something that had the power to seed horror in previously cheerful light blue eyes when Dumbledore and McGonagall was busy discussing the ramifications of modified transfiguration circles and whether Geber's methods with the alembic formed the basis for creating the _Quinta Essentia._

But reality reminded them of its presence when a figure in black drifted through the room.

Fear spiked in his guts and Hisoka had to force himself to not look away, to not whimper in shared dread as the Dark Lord so obviously toyed with his bound prisoner, Kyo's deceiving youthfulness seemingly real for the stark terror it portrayed.

"Enma," his husband whispered, unconsciously tightening his hold. "Is that. . .him?"

"Aa," for once, he did not bother to scowl at his voice's annoying tendency to break at embarrassing moments. "That's him."

He felt all too clearly the powerful shudder than ran through the senior Shinigami's taller frame, even as his abilities picked up the same sheer dread he had felt upon coming face to face with that abomination upon Enma. Only, this was nothing, a small part of his mind scoffed lightly in bravado. A mere memory of the monster was nothing compared to the real thing.

Tsuzuki hissed, anger and revulsion coloring his tone even as he took an unthinking step back, dragging Hisoka with him. "Dear Kannon and Kariteimo, what have the Tuatha _done?_ How could they allow this. . this _thing _to spiral so out of their control?" He pointed a trembling hand to the Dark Lord, "His attempt at immortality is an affront to the gods!"

"What's done is done, Tsuzuki," he snapped back and at the familiar ire, Tsuzuki shook himself like a wet dog, breaking the insidious hold that Voldemort seemed to exert over all Shinigami.

"Aa. . .you're right," the man replied shakily, shooting his partner a tremulous smile before the effort dropped, turning pale and sickly. "I should have been there for you. It shouldn't have happened in the first place!"

"What's done is done," Hisoka repeated stoically. Why couldn't Tsuzuki understand? This wasn't about _him_. It was about Kyo and Takashi and how he had failed utterly at protecting them, his friends.

He thought his control had slipped then, and his husband had caught the tail end of his private recriminations because a shadow darkened the mobile face, turning violet eyes into deep indigo. But a guttural curse from Moody halted what his partner had to say.

"Malfoy!"

Whirling around so fast, he gave himself vertigo, Hisoka'sheart was in his throat as the pale, blond wizard strolled casually into the memory, as easily as taking a walk on a sunny day in a park. His entire bearing dismissed the young Shinigami bound in cursed hairs as inconsequential, his low murmur brought to clarity by Dumbledore's quick jab and whispered "_Amplus."_

_". . .doesn't look much like an Elemental Mage, let alone the first one to control all four Elements in centuries."_

Every inch the rightful aristocrat, Lucius Malfoy would not have looked out of place in any high society gathering, if it weren't for the obvious signs of past tortures shown in the crisscrossed and raised flesh, the mutilated hands and the deep scar that pulled his mouth down in a permanent sneer. Oh, how well the empath knew that look. The pale demon was considering his next move, wondering what could be used to bring his victim the most pain and still keep him conscious so that the entertainment wouldn't be cut short.

Enma forgive him for the black rage and fear that threatened to consume him then, but this was one mortal he could willingly kill.

"No, Hisoka." A rough shaking jarred him from the darker turns his thoughts had taken and he blinked, slightly disoriented. But Tsuzuki said nothing more, merely enfolding him in the warm embrace of his robes, ignoring his muttered complaints that he _wasn't a child who needs coddling, you baka._

Memory-Lucius looked annoyingly bored as he twirled his wand in one hand, slouched in a conjured chair. _"Do you think it possible to create the Quinta Essentia and use it to destroy Hogwarts?"_

He flinched; Kyo, and Lupin were right. Not that he doubted the older teen or the lycanthrope in the first place but such stark assurance was a slap to the face. Would the _gokaikujin _wizards allow them to stay on, when they knew, somewhat, of Voldemort's plans for his friend? From what he saw, Moody held enough sway with this Order of the Phoenix. Possibly enough to force the Headmaster to retract his pledge to help and painful as it was, the Shinigami would not begrudge the man for it. They understood what it meant to sacrifice for the greater good but the Shinigami had invested too much to accept being thrown out, not now. The ones who held the fate of their mission in their hands were discussing the conversation between Dark Lord and favored Lieutenant excitedly, even Snape who was carefully making sure that Voldemort was always in his peripheral vision, despite the fact that this was all just a memory.

Their talk was over and above him, the terms too technical and too complex for him to understand. Judging by Tsuzuki's low growl, the man was just as frustrated by the utter feeling of helplessness. This was Western magic. Not Eastern. Not Shinigami. Not onmyoujitsu. They were in the mercy of these robe-wearing, wand-waving mortals and it galled bitterly to know that their friend's salvation lay in these people and they could do nothing but stand aside and watch.

Speaking of helplessness. . .Hisoka tried to surreptitiously study the too-still figure who kept himself apart from the proceedings, even from his friends. Takashi had taken a spot just inside the first circle, the tips of his shoes brushing the obscenely large rune that took centre stage. He took notice of no one but his _koi, _not even stirring when Malfoy jerked at Kyo's bonds brutally, whispering maliciously into his ear.

Hisoka tensed – it didn't bode well, this strange inaction by a man who was fiercely protective of his life partner. Tentatively, he tried to reach out with his gift but where Takashi was, only a low-pitched hum on the psychic plane could be heard.

The empath frowned – it was a shield worthy of Tatsumi himself, and those were because the Kagetsukai had the training to do so. For a non Shadow Master, and a non-empath, it was pretty impressive. He shifted restlessly. This was good, right? Having Takashi in control was surely better than having him bleed, emotionally, all over the place. . .

If only he could convince the goosebumps dotting his skin of that.

After Lucius left, all was quiet in the marble-laid chamber, Voldemort seemingly content to putter around the lab bench. Snape appeared to have finished his part, talking quietly with McGonagall who listened to her usually waspish colleague with a serious air. Moody himself was listening in and judging by his occasional growls and the lack of insults traded, he was actually 'making himself useful', as the dour Potions Master had sneeringly requested.

It was Lupin who heard it first, raising a hand to halt whatever it was that Dumbledore was explaining to him.

"What is he saying?" he asked, head cocked to the side. At the Headmaster's enquiry, he nodded towards Kyo who had his head down. "Shiozaki; he's saying something."

New tension tightened his muscles and Hisoka shot Tsuzuki an alarmed look. Takashi was the one nearest to Kyo, and should have been able to hear whatever it was that had caught Lupin's attention, but his current lack of reaction wasn't a good enough indicator. Trapped, drained of his powers and caught in the will-sapping presence of the Dark Lord, who knew what had passed through the dark haired Shinigami's mind? Hisoka made to stop them, already slipping free from his husband's embrace but he was too late. Again, the Headmaster performed the audio enhancement spell, _amplus._

_"Grant me the salvation of your mercy, for I have been given death. Grant me the peace denied in life, for I have been given death. . ."_

Oh. . .crap. Kyo was reciting one of the few prayers of the Shinigami, something they all learned after enough years of service. A prayer from a guardian of death was potent; bonded to Enma himself, this particular entreaty was one made by a Shinigami when it seemed all hope was lost, and final death beckoned.

And the mortal wizards could clearly feel its power, to judge by the spooked faces and suspicious frowns.

It didn't help the fine hairs tingling onthe back of their necks when Kyo muttered, in between lines, _"Taka, Taka where are you? Please, I'm scared."_

And like a broken record, the helpless appeal from a damned soul kept on. _"But if none may be granted, then grant me this. . .Taka, where are you?" _A whimpering sigh, and then, _"Grant me the power to seek vengeance, for I have been given death, oh god, Taka, so scared. . ." _A choked off sob- _"And death shall seek due redemption for the wrongs done."_

* * *

Tapping the end of his eagle feather quill against his teeth absently, Remus tried to make sense of his readings. The past _tempus _showed that the next constellation to reach ascendancy in the night sky would be Orion, the Great Hunter. He was familiar with the legend of the Hunter whose lust made him an enemy of the gods; all Hogwarts alumni graduated with a healthy grounding in astronomy and the myths associated with it whether they wanted to or not, evidence of Sinistra's quiet, but forceful desire to see every one of her students as knowledgeable as her.

By his calculations, the apex of the _Quinta Essentia _should occur within the next half hour or so, when Orion was brightest. There should be a significance to it, if only he could figure out what. . .

"Remus?" the Headmaster asked quietly. "What do you think?"

The question was too general in nature but the werewolf knew the Headmaster well enough, knew what the old wizard asked of specifically. He sighed, shaking his head. He was not a man prone to giving up at the first sign of trouble but this. . .he readily acknowledged that in the end, it might be kinder to let the boy, Kyo, die.

"It's horrendous, what You-Know-Who has done, Albus," he replied quietly. He met Dumbledore's tired blue eyes. "I barely know where to begin," he admitted. "While I may have the proper credentials to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, it does not leave me equipped with in-depth knowledge of the Arts itself. And this is Darkness at its worst, Albus." He sidled a glance to Severus, who stood with head bowed together with Minerva and Alastor, any animosity forgotten in scholarly and academic intrigue. "I fear Severus may be Kyo's only hope, if not for a counter, then at least, for an easy—" The rest of what he was going to say died as his sensitive ears caught a low murmuring that tugged something deep inside.

At the Headmaster's quiet inquiry, he held up a hand, asking, "What is he saying? Kyo," he clarified to the Headmaster, "He's saying something."

What the headmaster's _amplus _spell revealed however, wasn't anything enlightening in the least, though it did send a right shiver down his spine. It sounded like a prayer, what Kyo was chanting over and over again, and it didn't help that it seems as though the boy was praying to a god who would grant its supplicants vengeance, and to his own mate who watched it all with dead eyes.

He left the _tempus _spell on, enchanting his quill to record any changes and came to stand by Takashi's side, his friend never once giving recognition of his presence. "Takashi," he touched the man's elbow gently but it failed to provoke any reaction. "Takashi," he tried again. "Are you alright?"

The redhead shuddered forcibly, staggering back and the lycanthrope quickly caught him in his arms, easily shouldering the man's weight. The former doctor was a dead mass in his arms, breathing rapidly as though he had been running.

"Takashi?" he asked, worried.

"Oh, leave him, Lupin."

He shot the Potions Master a frown. "Really, Severus," he scolded. "I would think you could be kinder, considering the situation."

The dark man snorted disdainfully, throwing the man in his arms a contemptuous glare. "If the weakling cannot stomach the sight of his. . ._beloved_," he sneered, "treated so, then he should leave, and allow the rest of us to work in peace."

"Severus!"

"Gryffindor sentimentality, Minerva? It nauseates me. Kindly desist."

Sighing, Remus tried to pull Takashi away, thinking to help him to an out of the way spot. He couldn't blame the man for caving in; he had expected his friend to do so long ago and could only admire Takashi's strength for holding up all this time.

"Yes, it's a good idea to let him rest."

Bemused, Remus silently followed the young blond's gesture to lay Takashi down at one of the blurred corners of the memory, the marble floor disappearing into a featureless grey wall. It was a bit unnerving, how Hisoka could read his intentions so easily but. . .he shrugged it off. There were too many questions already.

After they had made Takashi as comfortable as they could, the werewolf taking off his outer robes and rolling it up to serve as a pillow for the unconscious man, Hisoka made no move to leave. Instead, he sat back on his heels, his hands straying a careful path just over Takashi's form. The boy's actions looked deliberate, and the Defense professor took note of how the boy was careful to not touch Takashi.

"What are you doing?" he asked quietly, looking back over his shoulders to see the rest resuming their work, with Tsuzuki standing midway and watching him, and his mate, with inscrutable eyes.

"This doesn't feel right," Hisoka said, frustration evident in his voice. "Something's wrong but I can't tell what."

"How can you?" Remus frowned. "Are you a Healer, like Takashi or-"

The boy's remarkable perceptiveness, the way his eyes could pierce right through you like the Headmaster's - only his struck right to your soul and left you feeling wanting. How he hated being around other people save for the other Japanese, how even now, he did not dare touch Takashi directly.

"You're not a Legilimens," he said slowly, as his mind furiously worked out the clues. "It's something more. . .something you can't control with a spell. . ."

He must have hit a nerve. Wide, sea green eyes turned to him, looking so young and innocent despite the carnage he and his friend, Kyo, had so easily sown among the Death Eaters just a few days ago.

"You're an empath," the werewolf concluded with wonder.

* * *

He didn't have time to do more than give Lupin a wide-eyed look of surprise – how, in the name of the Seven Hells, had the werewolf figured that out?

Swearing, Hisoka turned his attention back to Takashi, the unconscious man's breathing starting to speed up again. The psychic void that was Takashi was starting to fizzle, for lack of a better description, as though it was building up a charge.

"Kurosaki?"

"Later!" he snapped. "I have my hands full right now."

It was an understatement. With a sudden whistling gasp that arched his body into a bow, Takashi started to convulse, the back of his head striking the floor hard and Hisoka winced in sympathy. "Dammit! Help me!"

The lycanthrope's superior strength easily held Takashi down but it wasn't the physical damage that got the empath worried. It was the needle-sharp blows of surfacing memories that leached past a weakening Seal and drove through his own defenses.

_-I am sorry Kyo. Aki must be stopped. She must be killed. There is no other way-_

Takashi was trying to _remember._

The prayer was the last straw. Pushed over the edge by his _koi_'s desperation, even though the older man _knew _this was in the past, that his husband was a mere memory away and safe within the bastions of Hogwarts, the reality was now. Here. Staring at him in the face and whispering its entreaty in his ear.

The empath caught a fleeting impression of golden eyes, and a Death Seal flickering wildly before the half-formed memories crashed on him like a breaking wave.

_-Aki is unique in that sense. Her birth was made possible by a ritual Hanagawa Ayame enacted upon your capture. Using blood magic and physical consummation of the rite, a demon's seed was given life within her. Any other ritual would have produced a demon in its true form. But what Ayame had done ensured that Aki has the soul of a demon, the flesh of a human, and the power of a Shinigami.- _

_-She's my child, Taka! They're asking me to _kill _her!-_

_-Then let me die. But not before I save Kyo from complete destruction.-_

_-The Spear was never meant for a mortal to wield. And he knew it, even as his flesh was flayed from his bones just by touching it. And he knew too, that he was more than mortal. That he was a Vessel and the Dark Lord would know the true wrath of those who once wielded the power of the Gods—_

With a sob wrenched deep from his guts – _No, I watched you die once! I won't let you leave us again, Takashi! _– Hisoka forced the memories of pain and sorrow away, pushed them out and back to where it came from because it was a burden he could not, would not bear. His desperate need to save his friend tore his empathy out of him in a visible arc of lightning that jumped from his hands to Takashi, striking the man in heart and mind.

He heard a racket of confused yelling and Lupin shouting something to him but all he could see and hear was Takashi's blank, staring eyes, the gold within receding and the last cry of a broken mind. With a deep shudder, he laid one shaking hand over Takashi's open eyes.

"Sleep," he ordered hoarsely. "Sleep Takashi, and ignore the dreams."

With the last, twisted construct of the Seal falling into place, the tortured mind beneath his hand quietened into the dark blankness of forced slumber – beyond the reach of dreams or memories.

"Sleep my friend."

* * *

Hermione made sure to keep a good enough distance away from the surprisingly snappish Kyo, though she couldn't help but give him little glances every few minutes, as though to make sure that the older Japanese boy hadn't disappeared while she wasn't looking. Seemingly ignorant of her scrutiny, Kyo leaned heavily on Harry who bore his friend's weight easily, whispering in the taller boy's ear as they rode the revolving staircase down.

She couldn't catch what Harry was saying; his voice was too low and nothing in Kyo's expression gave it away. The Japanese proved almost as adept as Hisoka at maintaining a blank face.

Even before the gargoyle hissed shut, Kyo had waved off Harry's support, determined as all boys were to show no weakness in public. Hermione only shook her unruly curls, muttering something about stubborn idiots and men under her breath which Kyo ignored as well. All five of them took off down an adjacent hallway, Kyo leading the way with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his trousers and if the witch hadn't known any better, she would have been hard pressed to say that this young man was once recently a prisoner of Voldermort.

"Kyo?" she asked, hesitant.

She found herself the recipient of a blank stare, and backed by the weight of curiously dark, almost sapphire blue eyes, she relented. Especially when the young man sighed deeply, saying in a low murmur, "Takashi has graciously extended an open invitation for the three of you," here, he nodded to her as well as Ron and Ginny, "to visit his guest quarters here at Hogwarts."

The smart young witch noticed that Harry was not included but to guess by the calm acceptance on her best friend's face, it was presumable that Harry had a standing invitation for just about anything with the Japanese couple.

The silent progress was broken only by Harry's occasional, low voiced comments to Kyo who listened gravely to the shorter boy. They went past the tapestry of Barnaby the Barmy and up several flights of stairs which, oddly enough, brought them back to the seventh floor and down deeper passageways that gave the impression of leading right into the heart of the stone castle. The last turn brought them facing a long corridor, lit by torches whose steady flame shone on oaken doors, scarred and heavy.

Kyo stopped before the third, his hand on the doorknob and he waved vaguely at another which was several feet down. "Tsuzuki's," he said quietly. "And by default, Hisoka's. Please do not bother them there unless it is important." The door swung in on silent hinges at his touch and just as he crossed the threshold, he turned, frowning. "Please take off your shoes inside, and wear the slippers provided."

Ron and Ginny shot him odd looks but Harry and Hermione nodded agreeably, following inside quickly. Sure enough, just beyond the door was a small, squared off space of stone with a low shoe rack on the left (she guessed by the smartly-buffed leather loafers that most of the contents were Takashi's, though a dark tan pair seemed like something Kyo would wear, to judge by the smaller size) and a line of fuzzy blue house slippers waiting.

"Japanese homes usually have wooden floors," she clarified to Ron and Ginny who were eyeing the slippers in mild confusion. Sure enough, the rest of the apartment's floor was wood, done in a pleasingly warm, dark tone that set off the cream colored couches and chairs nicely. Harry had already set his own shoes aside neatly and after donning a pair of the slippers, had followed Kyo into what they could see as an attached kitchen on the right.

Still explaining, she urged Ron into his own pair, scolding the redhead when he protested that his socks weren't darned. "They prize cleanliness and it's considered rude, and dirty, to wear shoes inside the house."

Feet properly clad, the three of them wandered over to the couch and stuffed armchairs, which Hermione noted with approval were the Muggle, cotton cover types instead of the velvet upholstery favoured by wizard-kind. Unabashedly, they studied each nook and cranny, but all from the comfort of the Muggle-style seating. The entire apartment that they could see, which was basically just the living room and the open kitchen, was done in a spare fashion, but little touches here and there alleviated the starkness; a muted art print hanging on a wall, the jumble of books on the mantelpiece and a desk by the window littered with notes and more leather-bound titles.

"It's different, isn't it?"

She jumped; Harry had sneaked up on her as usual and flopped down by her side on the couch in a loose-limbed sprawl. Half-amused, she pushed his leg out of the way – was it a requirement for all boys to sit like that?

"What is?" she frowned and quick as a snake, snapped, "Ronald Weasley! It's rude to touch other people's belongings without their permission!"

The reprimanded redhead flushed, the color clashing with his carrot-bright hair. "Stuff it," he growled half-heartedly. The tall, gangly boy was in a deep armchair by the fire, feet curled under him as he studied a chequered board on a small side table. "What's this?" he asked out loud, holding up an oddly shaped playing piece which had a Chinese or Japanese character painted on the wooden counter.

"Shogi," Kyo announced as he joined them, bearing a tray of a stout little teapot and small cups. Ginny helped him set the tea things down, clearing off some of the magazines scattered on the low table before the fireplace. Seeing that Ron's confusion hadn't cleared, he explained, "Japanese chess. Takashi likes to play."

"Chess?" The freckled face brightened, his eyes turning speculative. "Can you teach me how?"

Kyo paused in mid-serve. "I suck at shogi," he said blandly. "Takashi knows that too which is why he keeps that board out. He uses it to place ridiculous wagers on games with me and I always, of course, end up losing. And somehow, always wind up naked and tied and sometimes even covered with—"

"Kyo!"

"Maa, Harry-kun," the Japanese pouted, thanking Ginny absently. "It's a part of growing up, learning to love your body and other's as well."

Hermione avidly studied the older boy, her preoccupation with the ongoing mystery that were the four Japanese allowing her to record the indecent banter and mentally file it away for later mortification. She noted how despite the light hearted teasing that had the younger students red-faced with embarrassment, the hint of bitterness in his tone was clear.

"I've made you uncomfortable." Suddenly contrite, the young Japanese had a wonderfully mournful look on his face and he solicitously offered the youngest Weasley a cup of thin, greenish liquid. "Shall I stop airing out my and Takashi's sex life? Though, I haven't even mentioned about our visits to Soapland. Have you been to a Soapland? Amazing, the services they offer and all at _such _a good—"

"Kyo!" she reprimanded the unabashed boy automatically. "I have no idea what a Soapland is and since it came from your recommendation, I don't want to." Yes, the dark emotion in darker colored eyes was clear. The Japanese might outwardly show such flippant disregard for what was going on in the Headmaster's office even as they spoke, but he could not hide it completely from someone who had been Harry Potter's best friend for over five years.

"Such disrespect from young ones," Kyo murmured to himself. He took a cup for himself, his left hand cradling the bottom while the right curled delicately around the rim. Instead of taking a seat for himself, he chose to settle on the floor, feet neatly tucked in beneath him. With a start, Hermione realised what felt odd – the previously bare floor now had flat cushions on which Kyo sat primly on, and that the couch and armchairs were lower than standard height. Low enough that the table was in comfortable reach.

There was only the clicking of porcelain and the crackle of a low fire burning for a while. Harry, as she expected, chose to join Kyo on the floor, knees touching. She hesitated, finger tracing the rim of her teacup. Screwing up her courage, she blurted out, "What did he do to you?"

A long silence, where Kyo merely kept on playing with a lock of Harry's hair that he had twined around his fingers. Was it coincidence, that his touch traced the lightning bolt scar lightly, eliciting a shudder from the Boy Who Lived? Just when she was about to open her mouth, hair frizzing in irritation, Kyo spoke.

"The tea's cold," he said quietly and he got to his feet in one unhurried movement. Oblivious to their stares, he took the squat teapot and left their little cluster before the fire for the kitchen.

"Hermione!"

Startled, she turned to lock eyes with a furious Harry. Tired, jaded eyes sparking with anger, the boy twisted around his own cushion to spear the witch with a livid glare. "Why the hell did you have to bring that up!" he hissed. The sharp hand motion he made stopped her protest short. "I know you don't trust them but at least show s—"

Whatever it was that Harry meant to say, she would never know. A crash sounded and all four of them jumped to their feet, wands in hand, only to find that the source of the noise was a Kyo flat on the floor in a puddle of cool tea and broken shards of porcelain.

"Kyo!"

With Seeker dexterity, Harry jumped over the couch, practically skidding to the Japanese' boy's side. The rest of them hurried after, mouths tightened in grim lines. Kyo was lying on his side, limbs sprawled gracelessly and by some miracle, his fall had missed the jagged pieces of broken crockery but the longish, black hair was in danger of getting wetted with tea.

Even as Harry and Ron gently turned the unconscious Kyo on his side, Hermione and Ginny spelled the mess away and dried the floor. Unknown to the witch, she mimicked Remus and shrugged out of her robes to roll it into a makeshift pillow which she gently slid under the boy's head. Kyo's eyes were half-lidded, staring at nothing and she barely repressed a shudder, unnerved. The older boy looked dead.

"What's wrong with him?"

Harry's anxious voice cut short the dark turn her fancy took and the girl squared herself visibly. "Ginny," she rapped out. "Make a Floo call to Madam Pomfrey please. Ron, get a bowl of cool water and a small, clean towel. There should be some in one of the kitchen drawers." The apartment's Muggle setup indicated that Takashi and Kyo eschewed wizarding style and every good Muggle kitchen would have a dishtowel handy.

The two mentioned nodded, looking relieved to be receiving instructions while Harry gently clasped the larger, but just as thin wrist in his hand, two fingers pressed on the pale skin of the underside. "His pulse is too fast," he said, clipped and terse.

She smoothed the wayward bangs aside, marvelling vaguely how sleek theyfelt, especially when compared to her own. "He doesn't have a fever," she noted. Steeling herself, she pried open first one eyelid, then the other. Frowning, she said, "His pupils are dilated. It could mean he's in shock or. . ."

Impatient, Harry prodded, "Or what?"

"I don't know, all right?" she snapped back. "I'm not a mediwitch." She bit her bottom lip, thinking fast. "Professor Matsumada said earlier that his immune system is weakened, and his magical core is disrupted. This could be due t—"

There was a pop and whoosh, followed by a trill of unidentified song that calmed her nerves.

"Fawkes!"

Indeed, the Headmaster's phoenix had appeared, staying aloft in midair effortlessly and at the sight of the magical bird, Ginny abandoned the fireplace, saying, "Pomfrey's not answering."

Ron hurried out of the kitchen, the bowl and towel dangling form his hands. "What's that he's carrying?"

The phoenix trilled again and descended lower, one, golden clawed leg extended out to Harry. The bird's burden was a wrapped, square parchment and the instant he relieved Fawkes of it, the phoenix disappeared in another whoosh of magical flames.

The parchment covered something small and hard which turned out to be a one-dose vial of. . .

"Dreamless Sleep," Harry said, clearly surprised.

"Is there a note?" she asked, restraining herself from snatching the parchment from Harry's hand.

"Yeah. . ." he trailed off, reading. A frown creased his forehead and absent-mindedly, he pushed his glasses up. "It's from Dumbledore. He says we're to make sure that Kyo drinks the potion and that they're sending Takashi along in a bit. And that we have to make sure that Kyo's sleeping before they do."

The teens stared at one another, confused

"How did Dumbledore find out about this?" Ginny gestured vaguely at the unconscious Kyo. "Did he write as though we were supposed to slip Kyo the potion without him knowing, Harry?"

Harry shook his head, pushing back his fringe and exposing the red curse scar briefly. "No. He just wrote to give the potion, as if he knew Kyo won't be protesting." The young wizard fingered the one-dose vial hesitantly. "Kyo can't take sleeping potions because his dreams get out of control sometimes," he muttered uneasily. "So Dreamless Sleep means. . ."

"That they're afraid he _would _dream, and lose control," Hermione finished grimly.

The silence that gripped the teens were uneasy but shrugging off his discomfort, Harry instructed Hermione to keep Kyo's head still while with one hand, he pried the boy's jaws open and tipped the entire contents of the glass vial in. When natural reflexes failed to kick in, Harry, mouth dry, gently stroked his throat. It took a minute or two but the unsettling, blank-eyed stare was finally veiled in magical sleep. Hermione was just about to cast a _mobilicorpus _to settle Kyo somewhere more comfortable when there was another telltale whoosh of phoenix flame.

"Have you given him the potion?"

"Hisoka! Kyo collapsed all of the sud—what happened to Takashi?" Bewildered, Harry nevertheless hurried to help the frowning blond with his burden, the taller man hanging limply between them. Fawkes watched them avidly from his perch on the back of the couch, singing a reassuring note or two as the use of two levitating spells had both Kyo and Takashi in the bedroom and tucked under the covers.

Seeing the both of them in bed was one thing, but seeing the both of them in bed _and _appearing dead to the world was another, Hermione decided queasily.

"What happened, Hisoka?" Harry was quizzing the blond intently, fists clenched and body practically vibrating from tension.

The young Japanese merely quirked an eyebrow, saying smoothly, "Just old injuries making trouble for them." He shrugged delicately, smoothing down the covers with his two friends tucked underneath, lifelike dolls. If she squinted just right, she could make out the same sort of repressed force held back by the thin frame. Whatever it was that had happened wasn't something pleasant, that much she could tell.

"Hey, Hermione?" Ginny, sounding a bit cautious at setting foot into a practically unknown couple's bedroom, poked her head around the door left ajar. "You got an owl. It's from your parents I think." She held out a thin envelope, the Muggle kind and the frizzy-haired witch's heart skipped a beat in excitement. Had her Da come through when even Hogwarts' famed library had failed?

Hermione missed the sudden, sharp glance Hisoka threw her way, but Harry didn't. She was only marginally aware of the way Harry shifted, putting most of his weight on the balls of his feet, ready to move at a moment's notice. What held the girl's attention was the white envelope bearing _Granger & Granger_ at the upper left-hand corner, almost tearing the letter within in her haste.

Inside, there was a single sheet of paper folded neatly around a second envelope. Recognising her father's looping script, Hermoine squelched the urge to jump straight to the other, shaking out the letter instead.

_Dearest 'Mione,_(it read)

_I confess I had quite a laugh when your request came that I play research assistant. I suppose that this means that there are things that we poor, ordinary folk are better at? At any rate, I was quite astonished when a reply came from the British Museum's Asian Studies office, of all places. It does seem a bit odd that your school should fail to have the materials that you needed for your project, but it gave your old Da a chance to shine, so there'll be no more complaints._

_I've enclosed the missive from the Museum, as per your request, love. Oh, and the next time you have a free day to romp in that village, do take the time to telephone __your mother. She's more than a little out of sorts that you haven't written since the beginning of term._

_Your obedient (and loving) servant,_

_Da_

Sure enough, when opened, the other was a curt reply from said Museum and despite the cold, almost huffy inquiry as to why she would be interested in such an obscure, if noble family, their answer confirmed her own suspicions.

She raised wary eyes to meet suddenly blank jade green ones.

"Harry might think I'm too nosy for my own good," she started casually but in her other hand, her wand slipped into her white-knuckled grasp under the cover of her voluminous robe sleeve. Ron and Ginny had overcome their reluctance and were standing just inside the door, watching with keen interest."But I'm his friend, and to do any less would be a breach of our friendship." She swallowed, gathering her courage. "I don't trust any of you," she said bluntly, and ignored Harry's outraged protest. It was interesting though, that it was Hisoka who waved at the furious boy to quiet down.

"Yes, you've helped us and sacrificed much," she continued grimly, "But who's to say that you won't turn around and sacrifice us in return for whatever it is that you're really here for?" She held up the missive. "You've been lying to us from the start and allies or friends, lies are a very poor foundation for trust."

"What are you talking about, Hermione?" Ron asked, the tall, gangly redhead pushing off from the wall he was leaning against to stand by her side, fingering his own wand.

"Kurosaki Hisoka," she said distinctly, "died over thirty years ago. And before you say that there's a lot of Kurosaki Hisokas out there," she added sarcastically, "I have your picture right here."

* * *

**To be continued**

* * *

**A/N: **Yo. (adjusts Kakashi-style face mask) How was it? Not much action, physically, but more emotionally-heavy. Hope that didn't disappoint anyone. I am so. . .relieved that I finally got this out. Now you can put away all those voodoo dolls and pins! Please!

Angel-san; do I get another fanart? Please? (puppy eyes)

**Note: **WDCAK is _not _**HBP **compliant. The werewolves joining Voldemortwere written about. . .wow, last year. The packs, Moonlight Potion, Akela o'Meara etc were Lisa's creation. Bow to her.

The **Doppelganger Draft **is my own and if you want to hear me spin fantastic lies about it, just ask (grin). Lisa praised me for my logic on how a Pensieve works! And yes, that was also written _before _**HBP.** Dear god. . .I neglected this story for a long time, didn't I. . .

Do review and feed this starving author cookies.

**Bibliography:**

**Lisa: **The idea of reversing runes is Victorian or modern – since they were often originally cast by tossing down on the shoat (white ritual cloth), where they could land face up or down, or cocked at an angle. http / www . sunnyway . com / runes / meanings . html includes reversed meanings, but they aren't quite the same as Kelly's.

**Kelly: **I'm a lazy bum. That, and dear god, I just want this _done_ cries. http / www . lost-civilizations . net / runes-celtic-runes . html

**_Contricio Phasmatis: _**_Crushing the spirit _(okay, I don't know how accurate this online translator is but it sounds cool anyway sweatdrop) http // freeonlinetranslators.php?fromEnglish&toLatin


	37. Chapter 37:Oh,the tangled webs we weave

**Title: **When Death Comes a'Knocking

**Plot Mistresses: **Kelly & LibraryCat

**Spell Researchers: **Kelly & LibraryCat

**Warning: **Hisoka being snarky. Kyo-torture. Harry-angst. Lucius-style evilness. Good stuff, y'know?

**Scene Master: **Kelly and Librarycat

**Note: **It majorly sucks, that they won't allow review replies anymore. You guys all know I and Lisa cherish each comment/observation/praise right? 'Cause we do. Darn you, size=1 width=100% noshade>

**Chapter 37**

**Oh, the tangled webs we weave…**

* * *

"Well." The lift of one, dark brown eyebrow, a foot tapping impatiently against the wooden floor, a bitten nail lightly scratching the creamy white cotton covers of the sofa and catching on a loose thread. It wasn't that obvious but Harry had known Hermione long enough to tell that she was nervous.

Hermione on the trail was like a hunting hound; eager and ready to bound down whichever path the scent took her, but the way she shifted minutely in her place were telltale signs that she was hesitant about what she might discover.

In stark opposite, her prey was cool and relaxed, bored even, to judge by the way he slouched like any sixteen year old boy would in the armchair angled to face the four of them. Hisoka watched back from under long bangs of summer sun gold, eyes gone dark and hooded. Sitting on the arm rest beside Harry, Ginny tensed, then relaxed when the empath's eyes flickered over her before moving on to study each of them, like a butterfly impatient and unsatisfied.

The supposedly dead boy sighed, folding in one leg and tucking the ankle beneath him. "I suppose it's fate's way of saying that the world doesn't revolve around you," he said offhandedly and the teens stiffened, surprised.

Ron, by Hermione's side and standing guard if the way he kept palming his wand was any indication, barked, "Stop talking riddles, Kurosaki! Or-or whoever you really are!"

"Keep it down, Weasley-san." Frowning, Hisoka shot the redhead boy a fierce glare, adding, "You'll wake up Kyo and Takashi."

Harry didn't miss the fact that Hisoka had reverted to using Ron's last name; something he hadn't done since the first few days after the Japanese had arrived at Hogwarts. "Don't try to change the subject!" Shrill with impatience, maybe even fear, Hermione poised forward as though ready to launch herself in attack.

"I'm not." Everything that Hermione currently wasn't, Hisoka's mask of cool indifference fell into place again and–

Well, the Boy Who Lived really shouldn't be so surprised anymore that a teenager could look like that, could he? After all, he wasn't even sure if his 'friends' were even who they said they were. He restrained the urge to let out a rude snort.

"I just find it extremely funny and bone-crackingly hilarious that I could spend so much time and energy, worrying what people are going to think about the part I played in Kyo's curse—" The self-mockery was too jaded, too old, too perfect to be a youth's. Dammit, why hadn't he seen it from the start? Was he that desperate? "—but they barely bat an eyelid. I guess it's the world's way of saying 'don't be too full of yourself,' " Hisoka said negligently.

"You're not answering the question, Kurosaki," Ginny rebuked stiffly. "And Harry, why aren't you saying anything? They _lied _to you, for Merlin's sake!"

With everyone's attention on him, the Boy Who Lived shrugged uncomfortably, leaning back into the sofa, eyes looking anywhere but at darker, forest-dappled green. "Kyo said from the start that they were not telling me everything." He rolled his shoulders. "So it's not really a surprise after all. . ."

"You're missing the _point_, Harry." Bristling, Hermione fixed a cold frown of disapproval on her friend. "The fact of the matter is that they lied to you about something as simple as their _names_! How can you trust anyone who won't even tell you who they really are?" she demanded.

Stung, he surged to his feet and it was with surprise that he found himself shouting. At Hisoka. "Because I'm tired, dammit! I've been lied to my whole life, so what's the big deal with being lied to, _again? _You want me to say something?" He said this to a suddenly quiet Ginny. "Fine! I'll say something!" Whirling back to face the blond, it was only the table in between that stopped him from stalking up to the empath. "My _friends_," he snarled, a wild gesture encompassing a stunned Hermione, Ron and Ginny, "have been trying to warn me about the four of you since the beginning. But I didn't-" he choked slightly, but continued, with dogged determination, "—I refused to hear! And what do I find? That you can't even tell me your real names!"

Breathing hard, he stared at the still silent Hisoka for a long while before dropping back into his seat, sinking back into the cushions. "And the best thing is," he muttered, remembering a night in the woods when gods walked the earth, "I don't really care." He laughed, the sound amazingly bitter. "I've been lied to my whole life," he repeated. "What's another lie anyway?"

"Ara! Why are all of you here? The dinner bell rang already. Won't your dorm mates be worried?"

The four of them whirled around in surprise; Harry barely stopped a curse, of the magical kind. He hadn't sensed Tsuzuki's arrival, or even heard the door opening.

The young guest professor, hair perpetually disarrayed and tie barely knotted, blinked quizzically at them, bent over and in the act of putting on a pair of those anonymous house slippers.

"Tsuzuki." The simple greeting from the blond Japanese reminded them of their interrogation and Ron was visibly wary, unsure who was the bigger threat. Seemingly oblivious of the tension, Tsuzuki ambled to the kitchen, his cheery voice floating easily over to them.

"Maa, there are guests and you didn't serve them tea, Hisoka? People are going to think you're intentionally rude!" Whistling a light tune, the older Japanese started rummaging around the kitchen drawers and unearthed a squat, earthy colored pot along with a canister. "Hah! Takashi's too predictable for his own good. Look, 'Soka! I found his stash of Wen Shan oolong!"

"Baka," the boy muttered but the young wizards and witches saw a small smile playing on his lips, even when Harry's scanty repertoire of Japanese told him that 'baka' was hardly complimentary. Hisoka raised his voice slightly, still scrutinizing them with unreadable eyes. "Granger-san here found out that Kurosaki Hisoka died some thirty years ago, Tsuzuki. And Harry-kun is a bit pissed off with our. . .duplicity."

"You don't say." Unexpected, the still smiling professor appeared by Ron's side, startling the redhead into a squawk as he scrambled back out of the way. Shooting the gangly boy a puzzled smile, Tsuzuki shuffled carefully into the little island of sofa, chair and table, setting down his burden of tray, tea and cups, along with a plate of chocolate chip cookies. Artlessly happy, he poured steaming, fragrant tea into the small, fragile cups. "Maa, that explains why you're so stiff, 'Soka," he teased.

"Continue that and we'll see who won't be seeing their sweets allowance when next month's pay comes in."

" 'Soka!" Huge, tear-filled eyes peered out from beneath chocolate brown bangs. "You're so _mean_. . ."

"Oh, just stop it already!" Furious with how easily the two Japanese got them sidetracked, Hermione jumped to her feet, trembling with indignation. "Stop giving us the run around and answer me, for Christ' sake!"

Green, slanted cat eyes blinked slowly. "Yes, Kurosaki Hisoka is dead."

"Then who are you?" she asked just as swiftly.

"Kurosaki Hisoka."

The hiss that produced was startlingly similar to an enraged Crookshanks. Tsuzuki had perched himself on the arm rest by Hisoka's side, arm slung over the top of the chair but the older man said nothing.

"It can't be a glamour," Hermione said rapidly, eyes bright, hands clenching her robes tightly. "It can't last this long without constant reapplication and the method differs too much from your Eastern style. If it is a Western based spell, a level as complex as this would have required in-depth knowledge of the spell's structure and—"

Harry let the rest of it drown in a muted buzz that filled his head. Unlike the others, he had taken Tsuzuki's offer of whatever drink it was the man had so jovially unearthed, and the herbal scent of it tickled his nose, relaxing him minutely.

He _was _exhausted. Merlin, it felt as though his bones had been replaced by lead; it was too tiresome to even move. In hindsight, it was pathetic, how easily he trusted the Japanese, how eager he was to accept their offer of comfort and caring. It made him feel just the slightest bit nauseous. Was he really still that gullible, even after the Dursleys, and S-sirius? And after what Dumbledore did?

He trusted them. He trusted the Japanese. He told them his nightmares, his fears, his _visions_.

Harry's palms were sweaty. Carefully, he set the hot tea down on the low table before him, a small _clink _like a gunshot, or the crack of an _annullo_ through wood or bone, echoing through his buzz-filled head. With the same, cautious movement, the restless wizard scrubbed his wet palms against his robes. The cotton was slightly coarse from hard wear. He should get new ones from Malkin's. Maybe Kyo or T—

"Kyo and Takashi."

His raspy voice cut through the rising babble around him, silencing his friends. The two Japanese who had been content to just sit back and allow the accusations to flow hot and fast shifted the heavy burden of their unreadable gazes to him. He felt it settling around his shoulders like a deadweight, assessing and maybe even judging.

He refused to acknowledge it.

"Kyo and Takashi. Are those even their real names? Were they lying as well, like you?" he raised opaque eyes, something dying flickering feebly in their depths. "If Hermione's right, and you really are Kurosaki Hisoka as you claim to be," he said steadily, "Then you would have been 'dead' for over thirty years. That makes you. . .forty-six years old at least. I don't care how you disguised it. I only want to know one thing; are Kyo and Takashi lying as well? Is Kyo even eighteen?"

"No." It was the older man who answered, and his face was kind. "We are not exactly who we say we are, but we were not lying when we said we are here to help you. And yes, Kyo and Takashi are older than they look."

"Though you can't tell it from the way Kyo acts most of the time," Hisoka added wryly.

The choked off snicker from his partner said that his opinion didn't meet with any disagreement.

He closed his eyes wearily. A little voice chanted softly in a dark corner of his mind; _distance is good. _Yes, distance was wonderful. Get too close, analyze an emotion too much, and he'd just lose himself to the rage and despair again. Like last year. And look where that had got him. Less one godfather.

"Then how?" Hermione demanded, overriding anything else he wanted to say, even if he wasn't sure what it might be in the first place. "How do you do it? What spell do you use? Does the Headmaster know?"

"Frankly, it would be embarrassingly stupid of us to tell you how we 'did it'," Hisoka sneered, quotation marks practically visible. Even as the girl flushed indignantly, the blond continued, "Why give up something that could be used to our advantage? And no matter what you think, we are here for Harry-kun. Does the Headmaster know? Probably. Most likely even. He is not a stupid man. And since your Headmaster, the so-called leader of the Order chooses to trust us, why not you?"

"Be kind, _koibito_," the taller man by his side murmured.

"I am being kind," Hisoka snapped back. He directed his fierce gaze to everyone but Harry. "If I wasn't, I would have kicked them out a long time ago so that Kyo and Takashi can get some _rest_."

"Too late."

"Told you," Hisoka grumbled under his breath even as the young wizards and witches spun around at the husky interjection. Kyo stood just outside their little circle of interrogation, swaying a little. His clothes, simple cotton pants and a tee-shirt Hisoka had changed him into earlier were rumpled, his hair similarly disarrayed.

The young man's strangely darkened eyes were bemused, and Harry sensed that Kyo wasn't really seeing them.

Or not.

The instant those eyes landed on him, something stirred to life within, and the Japanese headed unerringly to him. There was some confusion at first, as Ginny scrambled to get out of the Japanese' way while fumbling for her wand, Ron trying to pull his sister and Harry back, and Hermione demanding the _truth_, _now dammit._.

Funnily enough, Hisoka and Tsuzuki said and did nothing.

The tumult died when Kyo crawled over the arm rest to tumble into Harry's lap, pushing his face into the boy's legs. " 'S loud," was his muffled complaint. "Shaddup and g'away."

Harry froze, unsure. What should he do? This wasn't the Kyo he thought he knew. . .or did it matter?

The boy – or man – in question whined softly, curling around his lap.

"What did I tell you? Juvenile. Just doesn't act his age." The mocking words were laced with something else; affection, he identified belatedly when Hisoka knelt by the couch, running his thin, pale hand through Kyo's messy hair. "How are you feeling, Kyo?"

"Stupid," came the mumbled reply.

Tentatively, as though handling fragile china, Harry laid a wary hand between Kyo's shoulder blades. A sigh escaped the figure lying in his lap and encouraged by it, he started to stroke, slowly and carefully. "Feels good," Kyo yawned. "Wha' happened?"

Hisoka answered before anyone else could. "Nothing much. We underestimated how the curse affects you. You passed out on Harry-kun and the others after you left the office, remember?"

At Ginny's sharp inhalation, the blond empath threw her a dark glare that was a clear warning. Kyo, face turned into Harry's leg, didn't see it. He grunted. "Taka?"

"He didn't take too well to the viewing," Tsuzuki this time answered swiftly. "In fact, I should check on him."

"I'm up." Nobody was really surprised this time at the second, hoarse interruption of their unplanned little gathering. The man in question stood midway between kitchen and living room, none too steady on his feet. The usual clean, neat appearance the redhead presented to the world was decidedly missing – hair rumpled and clothes wrinkled, he looked just as out of it as his partner. The man surveyed them all with a befuddled air.

"Too many of you," he said blankly. "I need coffee." With that, he shuffled into the kitchen.

The other guest professor gave a small chuckle. "It's rare we get to see Takashi like that," Tsuzuki said cheerfully to them. "Enjoy it while you can."

"I think you're taking this far too lightly. . .professor," Hermione said, voice clipped and terse. The hesitation before the title was obvious, especially when it was Hermione. "I don't care what you say, you can be sure that the Headmaster will know about this."

"Do we look like we give a damn?" Hisoka snapped back.

"Wha'?" Kyo lifted his head from Harry's thighs, looking puzzled. "What the hell is wrong with everyone?"

"Nothing's wrong," Ron replied sarcastically. "Unless you ignore the fact that none of you are who you say you are and that Kurosaki here has been dead for thirty years."

Alarm crossed Kyo's mobile features, and he heaved himself upright awkwardly, catching himself with a hand on Harry's shoulder. Without a word, the young wizard steadied him. " 'Soka?"

"They found information regarding the Kurosaki clan." Hisoka shrugged. "I told them that yes, it is me, and yes, we are older than we said we were or look like. Nothing else."

There wasn't a particular way to how Hisoka said the last bit, but nonetheless, Harry frowned slightly, catching a hidden current underneath that allowed for the tension he felt in the warm body beside him to leech slowly out.

"Oh." Black lashes swept down, closing sapphire dark eyes briefly as Kyo massaged his temples. "Great. Taka?" he called out. "You hear that?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever."

Kyo grunted again before facing Harry, face carefully neutral. "I'm guessing you're just as pissed off with us as they are?" He waved a hand vaguely, encompassing the other wizard and witches who kept on eyeing the Japanese like sharks would a fat, bleeding seal.

Harry shrugged. "A bit," he answered honestly before a humorless grin crossed his face. "But I'm not really surprised. I've been expecting something like this."

Kyo flinched slightly from the barb. This close, Harry could see how there was a visibly darker stain spreading from dilated pupils, like ink in water, a dark, spreading cloud. It was disconcerting to see what the Japanese had gone through because of him so evident.

Those polluted eyes studied him with something akin to sorrow in their depths.

He could get lost in those eyes, the young wizard realized with a start. And he had. Lost in the way the supposedly older youth showed a certain, carefree joy. The smile curving those lips testified to a love for all things chocolate, and affection that was shown readily. Harry had been the recipient of it, many, many times. And if Kyo's eyes shone bright like winter sun striking the snow, Takashi's would burn like warm fire, promising safety, the comfort of strong arms that would shelter you from pain.

Merlin, he _loved _them both. He loved them with a fierceness that had seen parents and a godfather taken too early from him and sweet Circe, did that made him _gullible? _Foolish and needy enough that he would accept love and care offered by strangers with more secrets than truth?

Something painful twisted sharply inside and he jerked back from the hand that had reached out for him. "Why the _hell _does everyone keep on lying to me?" His voice was raspy with unshed tears; frustration, and anger and plain grief pressed his words down to a bare thinness that stretched tenuously between them. Harry barely saw as Hisoka drew back, a well-chosen insult flung his friends' way as a distraction. The two of them could have been the only people in the world, right there on the too comfortable couch that kept making you want to sink back. He rallied, trying to ignore the way hurt filled those curse-darkened eyes. "You say you're here to help me," he accused instead, hardening his heart. "But you expect trust when you can't even tell me your real names? You're just like _them!" _Harry's voice rose, and unnoticed by him, silence befell the apartment. What he _did_ note was the way that head of dark hair hung low in defeat and that, surprisingly, infuriated him further. "Dumbledore wants his Boy Who Lived but he thinks he can keep me innocent at the same time," he bit out, resisting the urge to shake that thin body, hunched under the wrinkled tee shirt. A cold laugh worked itself free. "Didn't really work, that idea. So what do _you _want? A weapon too? Someone to take care of your troubles?"

"Harry, please." The plea was soft, and it fell as loud as stones in the quiet. Kyo reached up to him, and only then Harry realized he was standing, practically looming over the Japanese.

"Don't touch me," he spat, and would have added more if not for the fast grip that pulled Kyo back against the couch, pinning him in place. Takashi stood behind his partner, a heavy hand on the younger man's shoulder. All signs of Takashi's befuddlement with the world had disappeared, to be replaced with fury. A dark scowl wrinkled his brow and Harry preferred to think that it was chance lighting that turned the former doctor's eyes a burning, liquid gold.

"If you want to get angry, then get angry at all of us," Takashi snapped. "Not just Kyo. Yes, we came here out of duty, and whatever we feel for you rose out of performing our obligations. If you want to blame us for anything, then blame the fact that we couldn't mind our damn business and stick to our job, instead of wanting to be friends with you."

"Taka, please—"

"No!" Furious eyes swept down, and the removal of their weight on him almost made the young wizard stagger. He pressed a hand to his chest, shocked. Hisoka edged up to his side, a warning touch at his elbow. He shot the boy a confused look, meeting a grim, shadowed face. A quick signal he almost missed – from Hisoka – and Tsuzuki was behind Takashi, watching the man carefully.

"—I've indulged you enough, _koibito_." Harry almost took a step back. He never heard Takashi sound so cold before and the wrongness jarred. "I have stood by and kept my silence, even when I knew it would reach this." The redhead made a gesture that encompassed them all, Harry's friends included. "They are _mortals._"

He wondered at the significance Takashi gave that word. And he knew the others were wondering as well, judging by the set of their shoulders, the closed, pinched faces. Kyo surged to his feet, dislodging his husband's restraining hand.

"You can't say that!" Kyo sounded shrill, almost panicky. The wizard wondered what it meant – why was Takashi not supposed to call them mortals, ignoring the fact that it was such an odd term to use? Because. . .his blood ran cold, because they, the Japanese, _weren't?_

"You can't say that! You like them as much as I do!"

"Precisely," the former doctor shot back, and never had the difference in their age and size appeared more forcefully than right that moment. Kyo looked like a mutinous child compared to the grave, almost sad, censure on his partner's face. "It's because I like them that I want you, I want us to _stop. _Dammit, Kyo." Takashi's composure broke then, anguish turning oddly colored eyes a clouded grey. "Our love for them is not going to help when the time comes."

"Takashi," Tsuzuki broke in, touching his arm gently. "This is perhaps, not the best time or place to talk about this."

"Then shall we take it up with the Headmaster?" A voice said archly.

Hermione met their blank faces with a raised eyebrow. "Well? I've heard some very interesting things today," she said tartly, arms crossed and her wand tapping an agitated rhythm. "I think Professor Dumbledore ought to hear it as well. For example, how you've just implied that you will do something, in the future, that will most likely affect Harry or even all of us and it's not something you'll like. I don't know about you four," she continued sweetly, "But us _mortals _don't take too kindly at threats to our friends, no matter how oblique it sounds, or how well-meaning your intentions are."

The air became charged, a strange energy in the air and Harry was edging away from Hisoka, putting distance between them. His friends did likewise, wands at the ready. All four Japanese watched them back, an odd. . .hunger in their eyes that sent tingles of fear down his spine. His feet slid in their slippers, the furry weave too smooth for a good grip. Cursing, he shook them off, falling into a ready stance.

None dared to move, each sure that the first one to will start a cascade of events that might, for better or worse, change things irrevocably.

It was rather anticlimactic, when the tension was broken by a bright, shining white, three-tailed dove alighting on the back of the couch. The summoning, and Harry recognized it for a shikigami, gave a polite, almost apologetic trill. It sidestepped closer to Takashi, head bobbing up and down, and deposited a thick envelope in the doctor's hand.

Like a giant exhalation, the tension seeped out, and wands were lowered, and the Japanese stood down, that disturbing desire to do. . what? erased from their eyes. Harry caught the sideway glance from Kyo and he flushed, looking away. Shifting from foot to foot, he wondered what would be the right thing to say now. Should he—

A sharp crack. Takashi had broken the red seal on the envelope, earning a frown from Tsuzuki. The amethyst eyed man, now sprawled in the armchair Hisoka had earlier vacated, as if they hadn't just been on the verge of violence, said in a mild voice, "Should you be reading that out here?"

Takashi grunted. "Enma-sama used a red seal. I think it's pretty damn important enough to warrant immediate attention."

While the man read, ignoring everything and everyone else, Kyo and Hisoka made themselves comfortable on the couch and Tsuzuki sighed. Getting to his feet ponderously, he gestured at the door. "Excuse us please," he said to Harry and his friends. "But we have. . .office matters to attend to." A bright smile lit the mobile face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "If it will make you feel better," this, he directed to Harry, "Then we'll have that discussion with the Headmaster, yes? With all of you in attendance."

"Just like that?" Hermione asked, suspicion tightening her features. "You're going to tell us everything? And to the Headmaster as well?"

"Well, not so much everything as everything that we _can_ tell you," Tsuzuki amended, a wry grin quirking his full lips. He held up his hands in a placating gesture when that earned a glower from the smart witch. "We have our orders, you understand that, right, Granger-san?" he asked soothingly.

"I understand."

Harry exchanged a look with his best friend, their echo petering off and a smile finally worked its way on to his face. A small, tired one but it was there nonetheless. Maybe it was the prospect of getting answers, after fighting tooth and nail for them, but at least, he was getting some.

He was very careful to not look at either Kyo or Takashi.

"Well, why don't you kids go get—"

"Tsuzuki Asato, I am going to _kill _you."

The doomed man shut his mouth with a snap, wariness replacing the cheer. Gem-bright eyes grew hooded and no one failed to notice the way they flicked from the sheaf of papers held murderously tight in a white-knuckled grip, to the fact that the air around Takashi was practically snapping with arcane energy.

" 'Unfit for continued responsibility of this mission, due to his compromised judgment'," The obvious quote hung in the air like a spark just waiting to explode. Confused, Harry eyed both men warily, though his instincts said that right now, Takashi was the more threatening. He had to be, with the way magic wreathed his form in a visible storm. The boy wizard looked to see if their partners would intervene but Hisoka merely looked resigned, while Kyo was trying very hard to make himself inconspicuous.

"Wait, I think I like this one better," Takashi continued with a grim smile and a miniature bolt of colored lightning struck out, and everyone but Takashi and Tsuzuki jumped when an unfortunate picture frame on the wall behind fell to the floor with a crash. " 'It is our recommendation that Matsumada Takashi relinquish the heavy burdens of his duty as mission leader to one Tsuzuki Asato who is clearly the more fitting candidate to continue this responsibility.'"

Dead, heavy silence pressed down, and nobody dared move, not even Hermione, until Tsuzuki said, mildly, "Well, actually, I recommended Hisoka be placed in charge--"

"Asato," Takashi announced with false sweetness. "We, are going to have a _talk_, Asato." And with that, he proceeded to drag away the unresisting Tsuzuki by his shirtfront, and the bedroom door slammed shut behind them with ominous finality.

A tense minute passed, before Hermione cleared her throat nervously. "Well. . .that was. . ." It was obvious that the usually friendly, open, redhead's ascent into towering rage had taken her aback. Giving Harry a helpless look, she trailed off, fiddling with her wand nervously and throwing anxious glances at the closed door.

"Kyo," Harry started awkwardly. "Are y—"

He was stopped short by another heavy crash, this time, from inside the bedroom and the solid, wooden panel rattled on its hinges. They could just barely hear a voice shouting when Kyo jumped to his feet and when another crash sounded, he kicked the door.

"Taka!" he hollered. "That better not be my manga!"

Silence, and then a grudging, faint, "Sorry."

"Kyo, I—"

"We'll let you know when a meeting has been arranged." Smoothly ignoring every protest, the four teens found themselves ushered out of the apartment efficiently. It was with dazed confusion that they found themselves on the other side of the apartment's front door, getting a mocking salute from the slight, blond boy who had herded them out like so much cattle.

"Go have dinner," Hisoka suggested, with just the slightest sardonic twist to his lips. "Eat your greens. Be good. Stop nosing in our business. At least," Here, the grin turned decidedly shark-like, "Until tomorrow."

And the door slammed shut in their faces.

* * *

Their footsteps rang loudly, echoing back from the stone walls and floor, a dirty, dusky green stippled and mottled through with rust red. The whole effect was like walking through the belly of some serpentine monster and he thought could almost hear the drip of falling water somewhere up ahead. A frown marred his smooth, seemingly young forehead; the Western Shinigami – Tuatha de Dannen, he corrected himself – seemed to have a penchant for medieval age décor. And surroundings, he had discovered in the past, were a good indication of a person's frame of mind.

He eyed a burning torch with distaste.

"Rather tight budgeting they have, ne, Tatsumi-kun?"

The cool blue eyes that slanted sideways showed mute acknowledgement of the jab, and got an almost blindingly bright smile in return from the blond who gave it. Watari's smile outshone the flickering torches spaced in intervals on the disquieting walls, and he was, silently, grateful for it.

"I mean, sure, Summoning Bureaus always get the short end of the stick whenever the annual budget comes around," Watari continued blithely on, ignoring Tatsumi's resigned, weary amusement. It was better than the cold rage from earlier. "But I never thought there'd be anyone who could dethrone you from your rightful place of Scary Accountant of Death."

"Shocking," he agreed mildly, and delicately pushed the bridge of his glasses up. "But I do draw the line between prudent investments and reducing unnecessary costs, and providing an agreeable atmosphere in which a Shinigami can perform his duties efficiently."

"You don't say," Watari deadpanned. "Is that why we only get two reams of paper every day, for the photostat _and _the printer?"

"Yes," the Shokan secretary replied primly. "It will be another hundred years before I'd forget the Paper Airplane War incident and I don't intend on letting you, Tsuzuki _or _Kyo forget it either."

Watari's protestations of his and his cohorts' innocence washed over Tatsumi, a familiar litany that he had heard countless times before, from the aforementioned paper war, and other misdemeanors the most rambunctious lot of the Shokan division had caused or participated in. His smile was almost invisible; just the barest, up-turning of the corners of his lips, hut his mate had had enough practice over the years, and the manic grin became more genuine.

The rest of their walk through the belly of the monster was spent in silence, Tatsumi's smart leather loafers providing a sharp counterpoint to Watari's more ambling gait; the blond's steps had a tendency to drag occasionally. A few minutes later, Tatsumi felt the ghost-flicker skating across his senses, and another alert was delivered to him from the shadows. He stopped, and Watari followed suit, waiting expectantly.

The silence, underscored by their shallow breathing and the hiss of the torches, was soon broken by light, rapid footsteps up ahead and a small figure emerged from the gloom. Petite, even for a Japanese, her long dark hair was bound in a neat ponytail, and the small body was encased in one of those billowing robes these gaijin were so fond of. Her aura tasted of old paper and ink, the lingering cold of Western-style _maho, _overlaid by the spicier tang of old-fashioned onmyoujitsu. Shiina Ami, his mind provided clinically. Stationed here in the Western Realms' Summoning Division for the past twenty years. Her official designation was 'observer' and something of a diplomat when the Eastern Realms' troubles spilled over to their neighbours, as during the last Youkai Wars for instance. But to some extent, her role fulfilled the part of spy.

Not all of bureaucracy was just pushing paper and stringing red tape, the Shadow Master thought critically. And Ami-san was proof of that. His colleagues weren't that naïve when it came to Meifu politics either, but most tended to ignore it in favour of carrying out their duties and trying to find that peace that would allow them final rest.

By his side, Watari shifted in agitation, fists clenching before the scientist forcibly made himself relax. Things had changed after the Kurosaki case; Watari had, to Tatsumi's sorrow, learned of too many things – of the shadows that made up the power of Death, and of the secrets that haunted their friends. Secrets that even the owners of themselves weren't aware. One of it was Shiina Ami. Or rather, the true purpose of her being stationed here when not even the Southern and Northern Realms bothered to.

But. . ."We are here for another purpose, _koi_." The use of that private endearment surprised Watari into blinking astonishment. Tatsumi held back a fond smile at how similar his partner looked to his pet owl at that moment. But the reminder served its purpose, and a bright grin made its home again on the blond's lips and he waved a cheery greeting.

"Ohayo!" he chirped, and the petite Shinigami quickened her pace until she was almost running. She skidded to a stop, her robes catching around her legs and she more or less fumbled a deep bow. Tatsumi caught her gently by the elbow and received a grateful, slightly embarrassed smile.

"Ohayo gozaimasu, Tatsumi-dono, Watari-san," she murmured in return, giving them a more proper bow. "Thank you for coming so promptly, and at such short notice. Forgive me for not being able to provide a better welcome."

Tatsumi could practically taste the vaguely amused confusion Watari was radiating. His partner knew a lot of classified information, but he knew more. He had been involved in quite a number of them after all.

"It is of no matter," he answered smoothly, and Ami bowed again in relief. She turned back to where she came from, gesturing for the other two to follow.

"Fudge-san has moved the meeting time," she said quickly, nervously tucking back her hair. "We have another. . ." she checked her watch, "Five minutes. It took too much effort and a little. . .persuasion for him to even have this meeting in the first place. He was about to send out the warrants for Shinigami Kurosaki and Shinigami Shiozaki's arrest until I reminded him that they both have diplomatic immunity, considering that the four of them are here on his invitation."

His control was absolute, but Watari eyed him carefully anyway, and he gave the blond a tight, reassuring smile. Tatsumi Seiichiro was fiercely protective of his Shinigami, and even more protective of his friends. This Banalius Fudge had been about to haul _his _Kurosaki Hisoka and Shiozaki Kyo into so-called "protective custody" for the slaying of five mortals and that, in Tatsumi's books, was a mistake.

They turned a corner, and the air here wasn't that much better, nor the light. But there were doors spaced evenly in the wall, with tarnished brass plaques. They didn't bother to stop and read, trusting the female Shinigami to lead them.

"He's ignoring the fact that the Shokan has started our own inquiry into the matter, and considering the situation and as per Realm laws, our findings and verdict would take precedence over the Tuatha de Dannen's?" Tatsumi asked, his voice dangerously soft.

Both Ami and Watari flinched – those who worked long enough with Tatsumi learned the subtle, but clear signals of his temper reaching perilous levels, and the Kagetsukai was _pissed_.

"He claims that they were not given permission to act aggressively, Tatsumi-dono," Ami rushed out, eyeing the shadows clustered thickly around them in apprehension. "And Shinigami Shiozaki has been accused as well, of unnecessary grand conjury and Shinigami Kurosaki, of malicious use of the killing curse, _Avada_ _Kedavra_. And there are whispers that he plans on charging all four of them of forging bonds with a mortal, despite the boy's status, and Shinigami Tsuzuki for willfully breaking the code of secrecy."

Watari let out a low whistle. "Wow," he breathed out in admiration. "This Fudge is really going all out, isn't he? All four of our colleagues are under Enma-sama's protection. Fudge had to agree to that before Enma's Own would even draw up the contracts. How can he ignore _that_?"

The girl winced, shooting the both of them apologetic looks. "He's like his brother, Cornelius, currently Minister of Magic in the mortal realm," she explained in a harassed tone. "The both of them are famous for being as stubborn as oni and as blind as bats. He let the Voldemort situation go on this far before he finally caved in and asked for help."

"A poor candidate then, to lead a division of Death gods, especially against that aberration," Tatsumi said coldly. The echo of their footsteps changed from hollow ringing to something more solid; the walls and floors changed to a more pleasing buff-colored sandstone and the air was dryer. Ami led them down another twisting corridor and quietly identified the massive doors at the end as the Office for the Regulation of the Affairs of the Dead.

There were no guards waiting, but Tatsumi made them stop a good distance away – he knew the fundamentals of Western-style magic, but he didn't want to underestimate his opponent. Extending his senses, the Kagetsukai was satisfied that there were no listening devices or spells near them.

"Thank you for your timely warning of our colleagues' predicament, Shiina-san," Tatsumi began, and received a murmured, "To serve our Lord."

"Nevertheless," he continued, and with a bang, the huge wooden doors crashed open, spilling golden light and the yelps of surprised officials. The shadows responsible writhed menacingly before falling back with an almost audible hiss. "What I am most interested to know is this. . ."

Banalius Fudge, Head of the British Summoning Division of the Western Realms, found himself inexplicably pinned to his seat as a lithe figure in a drab brown Muggle suit and glasses materialized before him, radiating a cold menace.

"What I want to know is," the man whispered, and his words were icy fingers caressing down their spines, "How were you able to produce such a meticulously prepared warrant, listing _each and every _charge in _full _detail, when I myself have _just _received a report from my colleagues?"

* * *

He shouldn't have. Gods, he knew he shouldn't have and Kyo had only himself to blame.

His shoulder banged painfully into the wall, sending bright lancing pain down his arm and up to pound his already aching head. He only just managed to not slide down into a boneless heap on the floor, but the prospect was tempting. Another spike of raw, unadulterated power pumped through and in him and he bit off a sharp curse.

In hindsight, Kyo knew he should have just called one of those weird imp-like creatures to sate his sudden, pre-dawn craving for a hot bun with chocolate ice cream. But no, he just had to slip out of the bed he shared with his husband; Takashi sleeping deep enough that the slight jostle of the mattress didn't wake him as it usually would. And since trust was supposed to be one of the cornerstones of marriage, the former sensei had naturally trusted that Kyo wouldn't be silly enough to go wandering off in a large castle unescorted.

At the thought of Takashi, and the sure fury this latest boo-boo would cause, Kyo resisted the urge to bang his head against the wall. Takashi was going to _kill _him. The younger man had thought to make a quick run down to the kitchens, let his legs stretch a little and maybe catch a breather. His husband had gone to bed in, well, not a sour mood but Takashi was certainly not a very happy man. Not after the fight with Tsuzuki. So Kyo thought, rather innocently, that he ought to let the man sleep. He was only going to get a snack after all.

What he hadn't counted on, was the sun rising.

The touch of sunlight on snow and stone, tree and bare earth, had awakened the elements, enticing them to a quickening aliveness in the face of encroaching winter. It was a daily affirmation of life and magic, a pulse that throbbed in time to the living awareness that was Earth and Sky and Wind and Fire, that would slow once winter gripped the land fully, but never completely cease. It was a daily ritual that he had grown so accustomed to, he could sleep through the daily ablutions undisturbed save for a faint flush to his skin, a vibrancy to his aura that had, more than once, woke his husband up with aching need, tuned as Takashi was to the flow and ebb of magic.

What he hadn't factored in though, was what would happen should he ever be made a slave to the will of a Dark wizard, made into a Vessel that would harness the wild energies of the elements into ruthless obedience by an affront to the gods that should have never happened in the first place.

When the sun rose over the Forbidden forest, the land answered and aware on a level that was incomprehensible to a mortal's mind, it knew that one who could hear them was near, and the earth sang out in joyous greeting.

What greeted that call was the black, oil-slick coldness of _wrong_ where previously, there had been _right _and Blessed. Surprised to hurt fury, questioning in the slow, deep beat that was Earth and the whispering shriek of Air that partnered the solid, steady presence, the elements demanded an answer for why the one they had gifted with love, now felt _hated_.

Kyo cried out, falling to his knees, barely aware of the stinging pain of flesh and bone striking the hard floor. His vision swam, then turned upside down and inside out, shot through with indescribable colors that blinded. Without conscious control, his talents engaged and he saw with Air's clarity.

The vivid brightness that colored his world then was staggering – he had absolutely no command over the raw potency of his vision – he saw magic, and he saw beyond magic, to the shimmering snowdrop beauty that was Life in every atom, every particle. Stung with grief that felt too fresh for a wound that had over thirty years to heal, Kyo choked, scrambling back on hands and knees until he hit the wall, as though physical distance mattered.

It didn't.

Caught in the wakened throes of a pain he thought long gone, or at least, long buried, he threw off the stifling, oppressive glamour that had made four Death gods appear _solid, real _and very much _mortal_ and embraced, with perverse, greedy joy, the Blessed touch of Enma-Daioh.

With a timing that could have been maliciously Hells-gifted, the daily call of elements subsided into subliminal throbbing that promised a repetition, again and again until their hurt confusion was answered. Surprised, stumbling and reeling in the wake, a Shinigami in his full, immortal glory was left kneeling on the hard floor and cursing his stomach for leading him to this sorry situation in the first place.

He was aware of company when his still active gift rippled, and the dim gold aura of a human slid through the gilt-flecked shower of his sight. Shocked, Kyo fumbled for the dropped reins of his mastery, tried to plead with quicksilver Air to let him go, to forgive him for the wrongness and with a mercy only the Immortals could understand, it did, but only after extracting a promise from the wrecked, shivering Shinigami that he would answer the next time, and make right what went awry.

Trembling with relief, Kyo tried plastering a shaky smile on his face, all too aware that the witness to his little episode was facing a Death god uncloaked. He could try to smother the otherworldly aura that marked a Shinigami, and pretend he really was human, but that was trying to. . .what did these gaijin call it? Closing the barn door after the cows ran off? Or was it stables and horses? His mind decided it was too taxing a thought, and blinked back sweat and reflexive tears, preparing himself for a cock and bull story that could perhaps, salvage the sorry situation he found himself in.

He didn't recognize the girl immediately. To judge by the soft, unblemished cheeks that had only the last traces of baby fat, the girl was on the verge of womanhood, and it showed in the ripening curves of her body and the rich, amber gold her aura pulsated with as surprise, fear and adrenaline coursed through.

Kyo flinched; the other facets of his gift were still all too active, but he didn't have the time to dampen them. The girl, most likely a seventh year, stared at him with slanted dark eyes gone wide, huge in the elfin beauty of her face. Chinese, he realized dimly. A Chinese, seventh year girl. Wearing a Ravenclaw tie and badge. That meant something, he was sure. Something important.

"I. . .it's a gift for my c-cousin. It's her b-birthday today."

He jerked back in surprise, barely aware of smacking the back of his head against the wall. The soft, Scottish drawl – incongruous with her Asian features – slid the last puzzle into place. Cho Chang. Harry's first crush. He blinked rapidly, trying to order his swimming, thankfully _normal _vision to _focus, dammit. _Light glinted off a bright object held in the girl's hand, and he squinted, trying to make it out. A silver bracelet, he realized with faint confusion. A silver charm bracelet to be exact, with tiny silver bells.

Which were dancing, filling the air with soft, tinkling chimes that would have perhaps, soothed the listener, brightening the air with their light sound.

Only, the bells were chiming on their own because there was _no wind or breeze _to stir them, and Chang was utterly still, staring at him, then the charm bracelet, with growing bewilderment, and rising horror.

Mouth dry, Kyo swallowed, trying to fight back the nausea enough to say something, anything, godsdammit, but his head hurt too much, and so did his stomach. They could have stayed like that forever, frozen in time with the tiny bells tinkling merrily away if the rapid approach of footsteps hadn't broken the strange reverie they had fallen into. Kyo inhaled sharply and with that action, dampened down the unearthly presence that marked him as Death god, and in the space of an instant, was again, mortal.

The laughing chimes of the bells died.

"Mr. Shiozaki! What on earth are you doing wandering around alone!"

He tore his eyes away from the girl's blanched face, a voice murmuring in his head, _she knows she knows she knows what you are_, and offered Professor McGonagall a weak smile.

"Had a craving for ice cream," and he visibly winced at the scraped roughness of his voice. Had he screamed earlier?

"That's not all you'll be craving for when I am through with you, Shiozaki Kyo." Oh _damn_, Takashi was awake, dressed and, he chanced a peek between long, sweat-soaked fringes, very much angry. But his husband's hands were gentle and warm, and felt like sweet relief against his cold, clammy skin as Takashi checked his temperature, brushing back his hair lovingly.

"I heard you," Takashi murmured in his ear, the wild grief in those cultured, educated tones all too clear and his aches doubled. "They're angry? You didn't feel right to them."

He nodded wearily, resting his forehead against Takashi's broader shoulder, the tension leaving his body like water through sieve. McGonagall was scolding a silent Cho Chang, berating the foolish girl for being up and about by herself when curfew was only just lifted and as Head Girl, she should have shown more common sense than a first year Gryffindor.

"The Headmaster wants to see us," Takashi was whispering in his ear. "Tsuzuki promised them yesterday, you remember? Harry-kun's friends won't be so easily placated like before."

He sighed, letting Takashi take his weight and curled into the man's embrace. "Lost control," he whispered back. "The girl felt. . .saw me. But I needed it. I hate this place."

To a stranger, their conversation would have held little meaning, full of unspoken words, but his partner, his husband, understood. "I know," Takashi soothed, running a hand down his back, and more of that aching tension left him, dissipating in the wake of the warm glow that hand trailed. "It's alright. Tsuzuki thinks we should tell them. Makes it easier. They're bound to find out, especially Snape and Remus-san."

Takashi said more, meaningless sounds that he heard only for the comfort they offered, concentrating on the way Takashi held him so very close, tucked protectively under an arm as the former sensei urged him to his feet. They left a reprimanded Cho Chang behind, McGonagall sweeping ahead with pursed lips and Kyo harbored a wild hope that this would all be over soon and they could leave the mortal world to go back to where they belonged. And in the wake of painful scrapes and dull throbbing, Kyo could easily ignore the memory of shadowed, forest-green eyes large with accusation.

She stared down the corridor where the two Japanese, and Professor McGonagall had disappeared to, and she could have stood there for hours if the breakfast bell hadn't rung, shaking her out of her stupor.

* * *

Dazed, and mouth feeling cotton-dry, she stuffed the bracelet in the pocket of her robes, her earlier intent to post her cousin's birthday gift forgotten as her feet took her away from the owlery and to the Ravenclaw dorms. She didn't feel like eating for some reason.

When the portrait of the Lady smiled, swinging open at the muttered password, the soft murmuring of House Ravenclaw on a beautiful, November morning washed over her and Cho Chang smiled. In the wake of the subdued, but cheerful greetings of her housemates, Cho could forget the whispered advice of an old, Chinese woman in a rocking chair, who was proud of her heritage and wanted to pass that pride to her granddaughter.

Cho had learned, sitting by her grandmother's side, that the dead must be buried in _yang _earth, and to do otherwise would birth a vampire. She learned that red would bring prosperity and wealth, and that a house facing a busy road would fare better with a mirror to deflect the bad chi. But among the other traditional, esoteric knowledge the old woman taught a respectful, impressionable child, one stood out which Cho tried desperately to forget now.

_Be wary, granddaughter, when you hear bells ringing when they shouldn't, for they warn the presence of the undead._

* * *

"Really... He shouldn't have been quite so... 'Dedicated.' " Nudging the rigid corpse at his feet with one toe, Lucius Malfoy sighed. Not a one of the Death Eaters fanning out to search the Ministry office dared to comment on his crocodile-falseness, as the aristocrat allowed a snowy handkerchief to flutter down and conceal the contorted grimace on the clerk's lifeless face. Lucius picked up a sheet of parchment from the litter strewn across desks and floor. "All for the sake of the newly revised State of Emergency Act?" Shrugging, the scarred man crumpled it into a ball and bounced it off the white linen tented over the corpse's nose.

He stepped over the unfortunate man, dismissing him from his mind. Glass crunched under a hard boot heel, and Lucius absently noted the light and color dying from a delicate instrument as its internal mechanisms ceased to spin. What its purpose had been was completely unknown, and the aristocrat frankly couldn't have cared less. A sudden cacophony of guttural curses and growls split the air, originating from deeper within the suite of offices and putting a singularly nasty smile on Lucius' lips. It was such a… pleasure… to be visiting the Ministry again, and to do so as a free man, in control of not only his own fate, but those of the simpering idiots who pretended to speak for all of the wizarding world. Claiming that Muggles ought to be protected, as if _they_ were the endangered species- Although, and his smile grew both colder and crueler, if he had his way, the worthless beasts most certainly _would_ be on the endangered list. He intended to imperil each and every one of them personally, should it come to that.

Suddenly cheered by the notion, the Dark wizard scooped a still whirling Sneak-o-scope from the shattered debris that was all that remained of a particularly solid door, tossing it carelessly from hand to gloved hand. The gizmo's alarm had come far too late to do its owner any good, if the smear of blood and gore down the door's frame was any indication. _In fact_, Lucius lobbed the sphere into a miraculously intact trash bin, **_all_** _their gadgets were rather worthless._

The wolves and ghouls had passed this way ahead of him, destroying the flimsy barrier of filing cabinet and desk that had blocked an interior door when the protective wards had failed. The carnage flung across the practical, Wear-ever charmed carpet was no longer identifiable as remotely human, and certainly exceeded the carpet's capacity for stain removal by several orders of magnitude. The stench alone suggested burst intestines and scorching magic, and Lucius had a sudden, whimsical vision of fussy, parsimonious Fudge writing to its manufacturer and demanding a refund. Rather than acts of God, the label on its back ought to disallow damage due to werewolf.

He followed the noise of more of the same down a stodgy, narrow corridor with its middle-class, practical runner in puce and lavender. Feasting ghouls had cleaned up most of the obstructions, but his boots still squelched in the saturated nap, staining the glossy leather. _Well, no matter_, the wizard shrugged to himself, _It_ _isn't as if these are my favorites. _Some hapless house-elf would take care of polishing away the mess, anyway.

The maze doubled back onto itself in typical, mind-warping Ministry fashion – too cheap to pay for the additional space, they'd made use of lazy tricks to maximize the building's interior – and then Luicus found himself at the ornately carved double doors that bore a plaque that read 'Department of Magical Law Enforcement.' Except, of course, that it would be more appropriate to say 'had borne,' as the plaque now hung forlornly by a single screw in one corner, and only the letters 'epart, 'Magi,' and 'orcem' were readable. He reached out and gave one of the weighty doors a gentle shove, and was delighted to watch it slowly, ponderously fall backwards without connection to its hinges, hitting the floor with a building-shaking _boom_, and a rising cloud of dust. Lucius' boot heels left fresh scratches in its dark varnish as he walked over top of it.

What had once been the headquarters of the Aurors was a shambles. The vast room had been neatly arranged with desks two-by-two in rows, portraits of famous peace keepers of the past on its walls, and modern conveniences like self-arranging facial identification kits and animated blackboards set out ready for use. Now everything was scattered wreckage, splinters white against the dark finish of broken furniture, parchments fluttering, and a sour, burnt smell hovering over all. There was comparatively little blood, and some of it, Lucius was not particularly sorry to see, had poured from no-longer useful allies. The constant harrying of small attacks out in the countryside had drawn the majority of the Aurors away, but the few remaining had put up a good fight. He counted no fewer than four downed ghouls, and one torn, nude corpse that had been a lycanthrope before death had returned her to her original form. Another wolf was panting heavily, its liquid gold eyes glazed with pain, where it lay full-length atop an overturned file cabinet. The Dark wizard paid the gray beast no mind; of greater interest were the bodies of three of the arrogant, meddlesome bastards who considered it their duty to interfere with their betters.

Using one foot, Lucius turned over the nearer body, anonymous in dark, uniform robes and tried to put a name to the man's face. Slack jawed in death, brown eyes dulled, and equally brown hair turned dark auburn by drying blood, the Auror was no one that he recognized.

Not one of the ones who'd tormented him in Azkaban.

Frustrated, the scarred man moved on to the next, only to find a woman rookie who was likewise an unknown. The third however, returned a satisfied smirk to his features. Shacklebolt had cost Lucius a finger during an interrogation session, and it was a pleasure to see that one of the creatures of Darkness had reduced the man's entire right arm to sausage stuffing before killing him. But then annoyance twisted his smile askew; he had specifically told the ghouls and lycans that he wished them to leave as many alive as possible. Yet between the running battlefield in the outer offices and corridors, and the siege here in the Auror's headquarters, he had yet to find a single survivor. Pale gray eyes narrowed dangerously as he stepped over the forgotten Auror to cross in the direction of the Department's smaller units and the remaining sounds of fighting. There might be no one left to amuse him in this large room, but there was still a good bit of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to go.

A less portentous door that gapped on its hinges led Lucius into the warren of second ranked Offices and Committees, intended to monitor this or regulate that. His unit of Death Eaters was methodically searching for concealed hidey holes – fishing out both the stray Ministry drone and other, more useful items. As their superior looked in on them, each white porcelain mask dipped in a quick bow, or a gloved hand rose in salute. Lucius felt his spirits rise gleefully in anticipation; there were five, no, six waxy-faced, ill-looking wizards and witches shivering in their dull, off-the-rack robes. And to judge by the way they cringed, at least two of them recognized his platinum blond hair and sneering silver gray eyes, knew him as well as they knew his Master. Lucius jerked a thumb back over his shoulder, adding the breathing loot to the collection slowly forming in the corridor. He gave a low, humorless chuckle.

It wasn't as if he'd never walked these halls before. Only, this time, that was no need for stealth. They had not come to steal a glimpse of some useless, twittering fool's prophesy. Now they were come as lords. Lucius adjusted the fit of his custom-tailored gloves with a jerk, mood gone suddenly savage at the memory of his humiliation at the hands of the Wizengamot. Oh, they'd pay for what they'd done in the dungeons beneath this very building! Once, he'd been able to go when and where he wished – a pureblood giant striding amongst the peasant pygmies. They'd taken him, stripped him and broken his wand in front of all he'd held dear, his so-called betters with lineages no better than his _dogs_ looking down from the galleries as _he_ was condemned and cast down. But they would pay; each and every one of them. And the terrible retribution would begin today.

Lucius arrived at the end of the hall, just as the door that laughably said Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office burst under the combined assault of magic and heavy foot-gear, firmly planted in the panel's center. There was a pathetic shower of fireworks, and smoke billowed from the miniscule office.

A handful of black robed wizards swept in like wraiths.

Moments later, they dragged out a kicking, thrashing figure that could barely spare the breath for gasped curses. Shabby green robes were tangled around the insides of his elbows, exposing brown herring-bone tweed and a crooked school tie in Gryffindor colors. Blue eyes were shocked and bright in a soot-smudged face, and thinning red hair stuck out wildly in all directions. Lucius' contemptuous gaze traveled up and down the man as he was wrenched into a suitably respectful, kneeling position. "Well…" the Dark wizard drawled. "Isn't this a surprise, Weasel?"

"Oh, Merlin…" Arthur Weasley's face paled beneath its coating of dirt and smuts. "Malfoy. You're in Azkab-" A vicious, short jab into his solar plexus by a black-gloved fist silenced the inopportune protest.

Luicius said reprovingly, "I was. And now, I'm not. Obviously." Feverish humor brightened his face as he leaned down to whisper into the wheezing man's ear, "But it's a secret, Weasel."

Straightening, Lucius rocked back onto his heels, and considered what fortune had dropped into his lap. From the beginning, he'd planned to leave a more… personal… message behind when his forces withdrew. It was one thing to brazenly enter the Ministry, pushing directly into the territory of the Aurors themselves to plunder the department, and quite another to let the idiots know just how weak and vulnerable the forces of Good truly were. To drive that point home, he would need a spokesman.

And here Lucius had that insult to good breeding, Weasley himself.

The Weasley clan had an excellent blood-line, nearly as pure as that of the Malfoy, but they persisted in betraying that heritage with nonsense like the Protection of Muggles Act.

It would be more than a pleasure to teach the affront to his race a lesson.

Abruptly, mind made up, Lucius flipped open the long, concealing folds of his robe so that his solidly muscular form in dark, tailored breeches, cream waist coat, and wine-red frock coat was revealed. He planted his hands on his hips, staring down at the confusedly defiant man. Anticipation tightened his abdomen, making his breath come more quickly, and Lucius felt a tingling flush spread deliciously across his skin. He gestured lightly for the team of Death Eaters that held the enemy wizard to get him onto his feet, and to hold him steady, even as his other hand slyly slid his wand from its holster. Struggling ineffectually, Weasley failed to see the subtle twist and flick, missed hearing the murmured, "Cruciatus"

But his body heard, and reacted. A shudder passed through him, and his head snapped back, spine bowed into a devastating arch. His arms and legs vibrated with the violent, spastic tension, the tremors doubling and redoubling until they were wracked his whole frame, nearly tearing him from his captors' grasp. A guttural cry rose from his chest as the seizing muscles forced the air out of his aching lungs.

Lucius released the spell with a small flick just as his victim's lips took on that lovely, faint, cyanotic shade of blue that meant that he was close to passing out. Looking down at the shuddering, brown tweed-clad shoulders and the crown of the thinning red hair, the Dark wizard licked his twisted lower lip consideringly. The tip of his wand traced the smooth ivory of exposed scalp peeping through the mussed, carroty waves, transmitting the shivering tremors like an insect's antenna. As the reaction receded, Lucius said, "Cruciatus," and hungrily watched the spell play itself out once more.

But even the best entertainments could be wearying. At the third repetition, the demonic presence within his soul twisted, hissing, _not enough…_ and the rage began gnawing at his insides again. Torturing a worthless pimple on the face of the wizarding world was _NOT ENOUGH!_ Lucius' hand shook with sudden fury, and without his conscious input, his wand slashed across the sobbing man's face, leaving a mark like a brand on the pallid cheek. His fingers twisted into the short-clipped hair, wrenching Wesley's head up, and he snarled into the foggy, reddened eyes, "You people make me sick, with your complacency and incompetence. Take this useless Ministry as an example: we entered here not long ago and fought a _battle_ in the Department of Mysteries, one that surely should have told you fools how vulnerable you were. Did you have the sense to do more than set another round of pointless wards, as if we were a pack of common mudbloods? How difficult do you think it was to recruit ghouls and wolves for a non-magical assault? And so we slid through your worthless defenses like a knife-" During his diatribe, Weasley's eyes had slid back into focus, and an angry flush crept up on his cheeks, competing with the mark Lucius had made. But, typical to his useless kind, he'd been watching the contorted fury of the face thrust into his, and missed the stealthy movement of the Dark wizard's hand – the slim, razor-sharp blade sliding into the man's gut unnoticed was an example of the same inattention to the physical that had let Lord Voldemort's allies enter the Ministry itself.

The flash of pure agony across the redhead's face; mouth opening in a soundless gasp, color draining away as bloodshot blue eyes opened comically wide; was a testament to what physical stimulus on top of magical did to a Cruciatus-abused system. Lucius waited for the exact moment when the searing pain of the one began to yield to the other, and jerked the slim stiletto _in_ and _up_ that tiny bit that made the agony new all over again. His smile became beatific.

Gasping, writhing between the stoic Death Eaters who held him aloft, Weasley choked out, "W- why…? I d-don't know… anything… of value."

Purring, Lucius echoed, "Don't know anything of value? Whatever gave you the idea that I would torture you for the sake of information? I already know as much as I wish to – that you're one of that fool Dumbledore's supporters."

"Then… why?" The man's breath bubbled stickily, suggesting that a rib broken during his convulsions had pierced a lung. The defiance was still there, but now it was tinged with desperation, as the realization sank in that it was going to be difficult to get out of this relatively intact and sane. Smirking, Lucius passed behind him, gloved hand trailing from the hilt of the dagger. It was always so much more effective when a victim was unsure of one's precise location, when uncertainty preyed on the mind's imagination to conjure possibilities.

Leaning in close, the blond wizard whispered intimately, "There's nothing that you can tell me that I wish to know. Nothing…" Leather caressed wool as his fingers ghosted down the man's back, wringing a shudder from his aching form. "In fact, it's my intent to tell you things that your Order would give their wands to know… So that you can _experience_ the singular despair of knowing that you possess it – and that you will never have a chance to pass it on. What do you think of that?"

"Y- you're insane." the wizard choked out. He struggled weakly, now fighting the effects of the slow poison melting from the blade sunk into his belly, as well as the debilitation of blood-loss and the after-effects of the spell-induced seizures. Lucius judged that the drama would be over just as it would be time for them to leave; his faithful minions were nearly finished collecting what they'd come for from the shattered offices. Slowly, he drew the gloves from his misshapen hands.

"How does it feel, to be aware, on so… _visceral…_ a level that you're helpless? That all of you, the Order, the Forces of Good and Light, are nothing to us? We shall prevail…" His bared fingers slid into the short cropped red hair, cradling the skull within. Lucius shuddered faintly; it was the first time since his escape from Azkaban that he'd touched the flesh of another without the barrier in place. To his raw, sensitized skin, it felt like an elixir of constant pleasure pouring over the damaged muscles and bone. His thumbs caressed the delicate hollows behind each ear, where subtle pressure could pierce the bone and bring death. He leaned in close, lips brushing the outer edge of an ear, "There's a secret to the bomb we sent to Hogwarts inside that pretty boy… _Arthur._ I'm going to tell you what it is-" A tremor rocked the skull in his hands on its fragile stem, and Lucius' grip tightened. "Defusing it is the trigger. Ka-boom." And at the in-drawn gasp of understanding, at the instant that his messenger _knew_, the Dark wizard's hands gave a final wrench, and bone splintered with an audible, wet crack.

Lucius stepped back as the Death Eaters let the body drop into a heap on the soiled carpet. A slip of parchment, prepared in advance, crackled as he tugged it from his pocket, and let it flutter down. It landed, half unfolded, revealing a crude drawing of a phoenix in its immolation, and the words 'We know.' Whistling softly, the Dark wizard turned and gestured imperiously for his followers to move out.

* * *

**To be continued**

* * *

**Note: **Do continue to review, despite us unable to publicly acknowledge it here. We'll still reply individually via the new system has, if you have specific questions. Cheers. 


	38. Chapter 38: Kurushimi

**Title: **When Death Comes a'Knocking

**Plot Mistresses: **Kelly & Librarycat

**Spell Researchers: **Kelly & LibraryCat

**Warning: **Secrets. Tantalizing hints.

**Scene Master: **Kelly & LibraryCat

**To all reviewers: **Much apologies for the lateness. I surrender myself to your mercy. (Please be reminded that if you kill me, you'll never get to know the end of this story)

* * *

**Chapter 38**

**Kurushimi**

* * *

Tsuzuki Asato had the dubious pleasure of being known as the Legendary Slacker of the Shokan. Or Slacker Extraordinaire he preferred to be called, when the whim struck. He had always insisted that slacking was an art form, pursuable by those dedicated to the path of missed deadlines and excuses that could have sunk the Titanic twice over for sheer audacity.

Indeed, he had the perfect guise for it; messy, chocolate bangs that had twitched many a finger to run for the scissors, a tall frame permanently in a lazy slouch that hid the fact he had not an ounce of fat on him, and the perpetually rumpled clothes that Tatsumi despaired of setting aright.

But a certain someone had convinced him of the need to have another guise. Or perhaps, he pursed his lips thoughtfully, it wasn't so much a second mask, but rather, his true face. If he had one that is. Hisoka had seen through the first rather easily too.

Oh, if he was _really _honest with himself, a lot of people had seen through him. Tatsumi, Watari, Konoe; but none had dared to accuse him of it, nor to try and make him take it off, even for a while. They respected him too much to ask that, their sympathy for the devil silencing their mouths.

But Hisoka loved him too much to let him pretend that the Slacker was Tsuzuki Asato. And the result was an intriguing mix of a man who had seen the world for what it was: a terribly beautiful place. A man who doubted his own humanity but thanked the gods for giving him a mate who was there to remind him that he was, and to whack him over the head if he was being particularly stubborn about it. A man who still had the jovial face to show to people, but this time, it rang with honesty.

_So who am I today? _Tsuzuki sank a little in his seat, the padded couch marginally comfortable, crowded as it was with all four of them. He crossed one ankle on top of the other knee, vaguely aware that his shoes needed a shine. _The Slacker or Asato?_ _Or maybe.. . ._he snuck a glance to the side, where a pale Takashi cradled a sleepy Kyo, the man's partner practically comatose in his lap. Tsuzuki knew, if he were to look closely, that the former sensei's eyes would show a certain, dark despair that he was all too familiar with. A slow crushing of hope and optimism that Takashi would try to pretend _wasn't _dying, so that he could be strong for his loved one. All for his mate who gave him a reason to exist.

Tsuzuki closed his eyes, feeling weariness drag his shoulders down. Today, he would be Tsuzuki Asato. The most powerful, and one of the oldest Shinigami of the Shokan, replacement mission leader for this assignment gone to hell. And he would be his friends' shield if need be.

"You won't be alone," Hisoka said, his voice low but fierce, and Tsuzuki couldn't help but be mesmerized by the strength shining within the jade-bright eyes. It was a stark contrast to the hurt and confusion so clear. . .was it just yesterday? Hisoka was strong. As strong, or maybe even stronger than him. Someone who, despite being broken so many times, could still pick the pieces up and try to go on anyway. And the young empath would carry his mate and his friends forward with him, even if he had to drag them kicking and screaming.

For once, seemingly ignoring the suspicious, mismatched eyes of that Auror, Alastor Moody, trained diligently on them, and the children who watched with damnable curiosity, Hisoka gripped his larger hands, squeezing tightly. "Kyo will get better," the boy continued determinedly. "And we will finish this damn mission, and we're going to go home, and we'll never, _ever _leave Japan again."

Tsuzuki burst out laughing, and Kyo stirred, murmuring. Hushing his mate, Takashi threw the both of them a look of mingled exasperation and affection. Tsuzuki grinned back, happy to see the former sensei had forgiven him. _Takashi_, Tsuzuki thought to himself fondly, _was a true redhead_. Quick to anger, and quick to forgive.

"Aa," he said agreeably, slinging an arm around his partner. "We'll do just that. And we'll wrangle a week long holiday from Tatsumi too."

Hisoka snorted. "Yes, I definitely see that happening. Especially since our _cho_ have been practically unsupervised while we're here. Naturally, Tatsumi will _love _to let us take a holiday."

Snickering, the Commander of the Divine Twelve flapped his hand amiably. "Maa, maa, Soka-chan," he said happily. "You're his successor. You have to have some leeway with him."

That exasperated eye roll was a heart-warmer alright. "Baka. And speaking of Tatsumi—" Hisoka's voice dropped low, and the young Shinigami made a seemingly casual gesture – just brushing his hair back – and Moody and the children were fortuitously distracted when the fireplace belched out suddenly high flames – and said, "We haven't heard from him since Enma's missive. And nothing at all from the Regulations Office here since we started this. Not even a _letter _for killing mortals in their realm."

Grimly satisfied, Hisoka leaned back, a challenging look in his eyes that said plainly; _try and make _this _look good_.

He tried anyway, if only because it was in his nature to put a good face on things, to believe the best in any situation. "Inter-realm matters are always tricky—" he murmured, and Fawkes, the Headmaster's phoenix, obligingly provided another distraction, squawking and flapping at nothing.

"Blasted bird-!"

"—it's entirely possible that he's tied up with arranging for the enquiries," he finished, and Fawkes settled back on his perch, fluffing his feathers airily at a rather irate Moody. Hisoka was spared from showing his continuing disbelief when the fire roared high again, this time, an incoming Floo.

Belching out green flames, and startling Kyo badly, they saw the whirling shapes in the magical fire approaching closer and closer, finally spitting out first, the Headmaster, followed by Snape, McGonagall, the werewolf and a young woman the Japanese did not recognize immediately.

"Ronald, and Ginevra," the Scottish witch announced without preamble, and the two children named looked surprise at being singled out. The Transfiguration professor appeared sterner than usual, though Tsuzuki detected an odd glimmer in her eyes. Sorrow?

Hisoka squeezed his partner's hand where it lay between them, and a silent message rang through his head.

_Someone died. . . .?_

"Your mother has requested the both of you to return home immediately," McGonagall announced crisply, but not unkindly. "It is an emergency. Auror Tonks will accompany you." She gestured at the young woman by her side, and to the Japanese' surprise, her muddy brown hair immediately turned a Weasley red.

"Wotcher," Tonks greeted them, her voice subdued. Her name clicked her identity in Tsuzuki's mind – an Order member, and also a Metamorphmagus was what these wizards call someone with her ability. A shape-changer. By the looks on the children's faces, this wasn't typical Tonks behavior and properly subdued, the two Weasleys did not think to protest. They immediately stood up and followed her into the once-again green flames, shouting out, "The Burrow!"

When the last bit of green fire turned orangey-red again, Hermione spoke up, "What. . .what happened, Professor Dumbledore?" she asked, voice trembling. She and Harry exchanged frightened looks, and the Shinigami was saddened to see understanding dawning on their young faces.

"The Ministry of Magic was attacked early this morning," Dumbledore answered slowly, and the _gaikokujin_ gasped as one, the children paling. Moody growled something uncomplimentary, earning him a scowl from the Scottish witch. The Shinigami watched their reaction silently, faces passive. Kyo, awake now, threw Tsuzuki a wide-eyed look, one he answered with a minimal shrug. This was not their territory. They had no right.

"The precise number of the dead and the missing is, as yet, unknown. But Arthur Weasley, Ronald and Ginevra's father, the head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office was one of the earliest identified."

A whimper of "Oh no!" found Hermione throwing herself at Harry, burying her face in his shoulder. The boy looked older than his friend just then, his face white as a sheet but with an oddly mature acceptance that should never have been there in the first place. His grass-green eyes, darkened, met the Shinigami's, and Tsuzuki bowed his head briefly.

The Headmaster continued, but Tsuzuki recognized the burden he could see so plainly. All of the Shinigami carried the same weight, and it got heavier throughout the uncounted years of service.

"He was not our only supporter lost – Kingsley Shacklebolt, a fine, upstanding Auror is among those confirmed dead. Yet, in many ways, Arthur represents the greater loss to the cause." Dumbledore paused to look significantly at each of them over his half-moon glasses. "We had been positioning him with an eye toward ousting the present Minister, Cornelius Fudge from office, in the hope of breaking the stranglehold of the nay-sayers on the government before it is too late."

Hermione made a sound of protest, lifting her tear-stained face to say, accusingly, "He was a good father, and that's the most important loss!"

"Granger-!"

"Severus-!"

Dumbledore quieted Snape with an upraised hand. "Ms. Granger is correct," he replied gently, the twinkle in his eyes decidedly gone. "Arthur was one of the best men I had the honor of calling friend. But nor do I deny the fact that he was just as important to our cause, in our fight against evil and darkness. Don't you agree, Ms. Granger?"

The young witch opened her mouth, but said nothing, throat working soundlessly. Defeated, she nodded, but made no move to disentangle herself from Harry.

Dumbledore gestured at the rest, and armchairs of various shaded patterns materialized for those still standing. Tsuzuki noted silently that the colors were muted, subdued. A reflection of the man's mood, he guessed. Another wave of the wizard's wand and a tea service hovered before them. Cups of hot, fragrant brew were distributed, floating gently into their hands.

"Such ill business to discuss," Dumbledore sighed. "The Minister plans on declaring a state of emergency. Wartime rules are to be enforced, though it is too little, too late. The Auror Division is almost completely disabled, the Ministry in such chaos as I have not witnessed since Grindelwald's rise. I have tried to convince Cornelius to assemble those we do have, and launch our own assault but the man refuses. He insists the remnants of the Aurors be reassigned as his bodyguards. His own protection is of more importance."

Tumult broke out in the office, as disbelief over the Minister's selfishness was expressed, and the old wizard waved a hand tiredly, gleaming gold sparks leaving a bright comet's tail in the air. "Please," he sighed. Tsuzuki watched, and saw the telltale signs that said the Shinigami's reprieve was over, that they would be required to break their oath of secrecy soon. He got another squeeze of reassurance from his mate, and Takashi, likewise, gave him a slight nod that conveyed the former sensei's continuing willingness to let him shoulder the burden of leadership. The senior Shinigami grinned, an inquiring tilt to his head and was rewarded with a slight blush on the redhead's cheek. Kyo stirred again, dazed, cursed-darkened eyes flitting confusingly from his partner's face and to Tsuzuki's.

Takashi smiled, an expression of such pure devotion and nudged the boy's nose gently with his, murmuring barely-heard endearments. Tsuzuki felt the breath catch in his lungs, turning cold with threatening despair and the gut-twisting swirl of premonition.

They weren't going to come out of this intact, were they?

_. . .Asato. . ._

He straightened, unconsciously fixing (or trying to) his crooked tie at the well-known tones of exasperated affection. He shot Hisoka a quirky grin, and got a resigned shake of the head. Cheered by that familiar routine, he met the Headmaster's strangely knowing gaze head on.

"Be that as it may," Dumbledore was saying, and the rarely-heard sternness sent abashed adults subsiding in their seats, Hermione and Harry likewise retreating to their own. "While the attack is of pressing importance," the wizard sighed, "We are here to address another concern. Perhaps, when we've put that to rest, we will be able to approach this latest problem with clearer heads. Now, Tsuzuki—" long fingers, wrinkled and adorned with jeweled rings, folded together, infinitely patient. "—you have said to Harry and his friends, that you are willing to 'come clean', as the Muggles call it. Which implies, you haven't before," he finished wryly.

Tsuzuki held out his hands, palms up in a gesture of helplessness. "Only as much as we can," he corrected gently. "No matter how badly we want to help—" and got a snort of disbelief from the Potions Master which he ignored, "—we are bound by higher laws than yours. We swore an oath to serve Enma-sama without fail, and part of it requires our silence on certain matters." Tsuzuki shook his head ruefully, giving his partner a small smile. "Enma-sama is all knowing though, and he has allowed us to break our silence when the situation warrants it. And as mission leader, I deem it to be so." Strength suffused his words at the end, and the other three Shinigami unconsciously straightened, even Kyo, whose inner core was still imbalanced enough that the older man half-suspected that the boy wasn't really hearing much of anything save his sensei's voice.

"When a human dies with regret, or any other strong emotions that prevents them from accepting the peace of final rest," he said quietly, catching the wizards' and Shinigami's attention alike, "they become restless haunts, roaming the mortal plane. Or they become like us."

Silence, and then. . . "P-professor?" Hermione spoke up, confusion in her brown eyes. She looked for direction in the Headmaster, only to find dawning realization in the aged face which didn't really help much, lost as she was. "I. . .we don't understand. Are you saying. . ." she trailed off cautiously.

"That we're dead?" Tsuzuki smiled humorlessly. "Yes. Literally. In Japan, we are called Shinigami. Death gods. Here, our brethren are called—"

"Tuatha de Danenn."

Tsuzuki chuckled, shaking his head wryly. "I should have known you'd figure it out, Headmaster."

"You're aware of the Tuatha de Danenn's existence then, sir?" Hisoka asked curiously.

Dumbledore nodded again. "Yes, I am. I met a pair once, during Grindelwald's rise. . ." he trailed off, a faraway look in his eyes. "It was a brief encounter, but very remarkable all the same. Walking, living legends usually are." The old wizard smiled gently. "Though, the four of you are rather. . young, for such positions," he said delicately. If the old man expected an answer, he didn't get any.

"Wait, wait." Hermione held up her hand, a frown of disbelief on her face. Her eyes were large, her smile, just this short of incredulous. "Are you saying you really are….dead?" she asked faintly. "Like… 'dead' dead?"

Tsuzuki blinked. It was rare to see the bright young witch so flummoxed. "Yes," he said cheerfully and helpfully added, "Very dead. As in, 'no longer among the living' dead. Kicked the can, deader than—"

"She gets the idea, you baka."

Her mouth was a perfect 'o' of surprise but the adults fared better. The Potions Master watched with shrewd eyes, and Tsuzuki knew that this man was just as, if not more so dangerous than the Headmaster. Alastor's spinning magical eye and Lupin's look of faint hurt and disbelief was easier to take than Snape's unblinking regard. The senior Shinigami was distracted though, by Hermione who had recovered quite well from her shock.

"The war goddess, Cymidei Cymeinfoll and her husband, Llasar Llaesyfnewid, supposedly owned a magical cauldron that can resurrect warriors killed in battle." The young witch was practically quivering with energy, bouncing excitedly in her own chair. The speed which she accepted their non-mortality was disconcerting. The Shinigami, to put it simply, were flabbergasted "They were mute though, similar to when the cauldron owned by Dagda—"

"Cauldron of Rebirth, owned by Matholwch Bran," Snape cut in, and to the Shinigami's collective surprise, the entire office sans Headmaster fell into a vicious debate on which legend was the more accurate for the current situation. Dazed, Tsuzuki could only shake his head, sadness dampening the levity when he recalled two other children who ought to be here, but weren't. _The young are so easily distracted from tragedy_, he thought sadly, taking in Hermione's flushed face and bright eyes, and even the werewolf's normally placid tones rising in hot protest.

Yes, these wizards had seen death. But had they ever had the task of convincing a ten year old child that he was no longer among the living, and that he would see his mother soon enough?

But one young voice was missing from the babble. The Shinigami locked eyes again with Harry, and Tsuzuki saw the anguish in their depths. The death gods might win on quantity, but they could not deny that grief was grief and in this bright, cheerful office with its many portraits, a boy mourned his friend's loss.

"Your theory is preposterous Granger. All of the cauldron born were supposed to be warriors and these—these _children _are hardly that."

"We are all ignoring the fact that all of the myths agree on one thing," Remus interjected. The werewolf leaned forwards in his seat, amber eyes bright with the heat of the debate. Those golden-brown orbs fixed unerringly on Takashi, the former sensei taken aback at the intensity. "The cauldron born were all supposed to be mute, to protect the secrets of the dead. They—" he gestured, "Are decidedly not."

"There's a perfectly reasonable way to settle this, Professor," Hermione replied crossly. "Well?" She turned to Hisoka, arms crossed.

"Well what?" the blond Shinigami countered. To all appearances, he seemed bored by the argument and through their link, Tsuzuki could very well detect he was.

"Are you cauldron born or something else?"

"I don't recall any cauldrons, no," he replied, wry. "Nor are we, obviously, mute."

"Then what are you exactly?" she asked shrewdly.

"Shinigami," Hisoka rolled his eyes. "A god of death. Look, you all, strangely enough, seem to be perfectly willing to accept the fact that we're not among the living. Isn't that enough? Dead is dead."

That immediately sparked off another round of furious arguing.

"Inferi are not—"

"—zombies which are—"

"—ghosts are fine examples of those who—"

"Why do you get a second chance and not someone else?"

All eyes turned to Harry, the young boy ignoring them to stare at the Shinigami with haunted eyes. "Why not Sirius?" he asked quietly. "Why not my parents? They had unfinished business. They had the power as well."

It was Takashi who answered, the former sensei's face sagging tiredly. "Not all are asked the question. Nobody knows exactly but the general rule seems to be those who appear to be candidates who would pass the three tests of a potential Shinigami. Or a Tuatha. The three tests of Need, Strength and Loyalty."

"I'm assuming that the test of loyalty would not be to the living," Remus said quietly. "But to your god."

Takashi clamped his mouth shut, sending Tsuzuki a look of apology. Tsuzuki waved his hand, garnering their attention. "You're asking us to reveal more than we can, Remus-san," he said gently. "In fact, we've told you more than we should. It is enough that you know we are death gods. We now ask you to keep this a secret. If the Headmaster knew of the existence of our kind before this, then no doubt Voldemort does as well. But better to keep his suspicions as only that, rather than risk any of my colleagues' safety any further. We already have one of our own compromised," he concluded grimly.

"And we promised you our help, as much as we can extend," Dumbledore agreed slowly. He was quickly silenced by protests.

"Albus, are you daft?" Moody asked furiously. "You've heard them! They're Tuatha! I don't practice the Dark Arts," he sneered at the Potions Master, "But I know enough from fighting scum that they are not beings you associate with freely without a price paid!"

"His ignorance aside," And really, Tsuzuki mused silently, Snape was a master at those sneers. His easily put the old Auror's to shame. "The one-eyed fool is correct - Tuatha are long creatures of darkness in magical lore." The tall, lean form of the Potions Master swept to his feet in one elegant move, night-dark robes swirling. "I will say this with the utmost respect Headmaster," the dour professor said, voice low and silky smooth. "You are undoubtedly, certifiably, _insane_, if you do not throw these four out of Hogwarts _immediately_. At the very least, seal them back in whatever Hell dimension they oozed out from!"

"Really!" Tsuzuki protested mildly. "We did not ooze out from anywhere, thank you. And your lore is obviously wrong; death gods serve to help maintain the balance between the spiritual and the mortal world. Professor Dumbledore—" He turned pleading, guileless amethyst eyes to the old wizard, sincerity strong and earnest within. "—everything I said to you, after the hospital wing, in this very same room, was the truth save for what we call ourselves. _Yamabushi_ are what we really would have been were we alive. We're not, hence, we are called Shinigami. I swear this on the name of Enma-Daioh, Lord of Death and Judgment," he ended solemnly.

Further dispute would have arisen, and perhaps, given more than just Hisoka a headache if Fawkes hadn't taken matters into his own metaphorical hands. The firebird flew off his golden perch, alighting on the grateful Tsuzuki's shoulder. The phoenix eyed the wizards beadily, the message in it, and in the warm, uplifting tone of his song clear – _trust_.

"Look, we're wasting time as it is," Hisoka snapped, the first to shake off the effects of phoenix song. He surged to his feet, pacing back and forth. "You know our secrets – as much as we can tell you and not be accused of treason, your Ministry's been hit and you lost valued supporters. Now I suggest we damn well _do _something before the cost gets any higher!"

_Before it costs my friend his life_.

Tsuzuki snagged the slender boy's hand and pulled gently, uncaring for their audience. They were past that anyway, even if Hisoka squawked with indignation and furious embarrassment , tumbling into his lap with little of his swordsman's grace. Their link thrummed with fear-worry-anger-guilt-_pain_ and Tsuzuki embraced the empath, just as he embraced the tumult of emotions swirling agitatedly inside his partner. Gradually, the maelstrom eased, becoming more of an ache, rather than a sharp sting that stole the breath away.

"Our current problems right now," Tsuzuki said, quietly, but with no less conviction, "are related. This Dark Lord of yours has struck again, taking the lives of loved ones and friends. And he has hurt one of our own. Our other secrets aside…" here, he smiled, "Won't you agree that we share a common goal? To bring down the one who has caused us so much misery?"

Hisoka shifted, and belatedly, he murmured a quick apology, allowing the slight blond to sit by his side instead of his lap. The empath scowled, but it was more reflex than for real; Hisoka appreciated the calm influence he brought to bear.

"You are correct, Tsuzuki," Dumbledore replied, and Fawkes trilled in agreement, yet to leave his new perch on the Shinigami's shoulder. "And I promised Takashi our help, regardless. If no one else has anymore objections? Splendid!" The Headmaster clapped his hands once, and Tsuzuki noted that he really didn't give time for them to protest, if they had wanted to.

"Severus," the old man announced, "I do believe it's your turn."

* * *

Snape shifted with irritation, less than pleased at being trapped into the role of spokesman by the assembled members of the Order. He cast a frustrated scowl in the direction of the Headmaster, who responded with a typically cheerful and encouraging smile and a lift of his bushy gray brows. The old man could at least have the decency to cease with the thrice-damned _twinkling _when matters of dead…'comrades', his lips curled in a habitual sneer at the sickening term, and dead allies were the main topic of conversation. Steadfastly, he ignored the creeping sensation of _doubt_ at the back of his mind, urging him to set right the score _this time_, in recompense for past mistakes.

He did not make mistakes.

Nevertheless. . .he flicked an imaginary lint from the cuff of his tightly buttoned sleeve, that moment of fastidiousness his only indulgence to his impatience with the sheep's tendency to focus on the obvious and the odious. It was displeasing, admittedly, to be shown that his formidable knowledge of the Dark Arts was lacking in some areas, but isn't that what knowledge was? A constant flux of theories proven and disproved, what was held steadfastly today, might be tomorrow's myth.

Still. . .he scowled. If they so much as sneezed wrongly, he was exorcising them, allies or not.

"Shall we attend to the matter at hand?" he laid out briskly, none of his pleasure at their complete attention to his every word shown. But the irritating blond – Kurosaki – had a most intriguing gleam in his jade eyes. . . "Your supposition is sound, _Mister_ _Tsuzuki_—" the faintest grimace showed his disbelief at how a bumbling fool such as the purple-eyed man obviously was could suggest _anything _logical, "—but you are blinding yourself to one facet of the conclusion only. The Ministry is in chaos, and while the Dark Lord has undoubtedly sought to achieve that, the real concern at hand is _why_. Is this a diversion? A delaying tactic? Or a concerted effort that ties in with his. . .other projects?" He inclined his head towards Shiozaki, the boy looking startled at being singled out, as though they _weren't _going to discuss his little predicament. _Typical Gryffindor_. It seems even in death one could not escape the inherent obtuseness gained upon admittance into the house of lion-headed fools. The Potions Master's normally forbidding expression became briefly sour (well, more so than usual), but still he sighed and began.

"Mr. Shiozaki." The boy so addressed turned innocent blue eyes his way, focusing his attention and charm on the older man. Snape's scowl deepened at the sight of a smile that would have suited Dumbledore. "The spell cast on you utilized ritual magic, and that has been the source of some... difficulty... for those of us engaged in researching its purpose." Confusion skated across the boy's young face, but before Shiozaki could do more than open his mouth, Snape plunged on. "What you have seen on a daily basis, here at Hogwarts, and in the European community as a whole, is _not_ ritual magic. Normally, a spell is the imposition of an individual's – the caster's – will upon an object or subject. In ritual magic, the situation is far more complex because it represents the intersection of many forces. More often than not, they involve the combining of the power of several wizards to achieve their ends, and as such, ritual spells are not practiced and learned in a classroom setting. They are created at the moment of casting, according to the ebb and flow of power among the participants and their environment. And because of that, taken outside of the context in which they are cast, they are devilishly difficult to break."

"But -" The boy paused, gathered himself, and continued with a kind of desperate irony. "We practice ritualized magic." He gestured at himself, and his friends. "That's what onmyoujitsu is; spells and wardings based on the current alignment of nature and the heavenly bodies—"

He was, Snape admitted grudgingly, impressed. What the boy said was correct, and it lacked the regurgitated drone the Granger girl was so fond of. Shiozaki knew his craft, as did his mate and friends, that much he could credit.

"—you have m-my memories of that night. Why can't you re-create it and design an unbinding from it?"

"Mr. Shiozaki. Kyo." From his place at the far side of the semi-circle of chairs, Lupin learned forward and spoke with gentle forcefulness. "I have also watched the memories that you placed in the Pensieve. What Severus says is correct. The spell that He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named cast was very complex, and very Dark. He used your own magic and connection to the elements to curse you. While it was more subtle than the Imperius, it is no less Unforgivable." Lupin glanced at Snape, who gave him an almost imperceptible nod. Better the wolf than the reformed Death Eater, when it came to discussions of this sort. "The Dark Lord did not mingle his essence with yours during the initial creation of the Quinta Essentia. That would have formed a true melding of your powers, a symbiosis. Rather, he waited and superimposed his control at the end of the process, which allowed him to dominate your connection to the elements. The bond is one-sided – he is able to affect you and your magic, but you cannot use the link back against him. Breaking that domination is going to be very, very unpleasant, as is always the case when the Dark Arts are used."

The boy looked between the two of them, eyes gone wide with distress. His lips parted as though he wanted to argue, but then a shuddering sigh of pain passed over him, and soot black lashes swept down to rest on cheeks that glowed faintly golden with arcane energy. A soft rose blush washed across the elegant curve of bone and flesh, and his eyes flicked open, meeting those of the Potions Master. Snape forced himself to hold that gaze, to not yield and look away. He _owed _the boy to not falter. He owed _Sebastian_. One of the very few he dared call friend, trapped by the same madman and now, undoubtedly lost.

_The Master knows._

An unpleasantly hollow sensation behind his breastbone assaulted him, and agony ran liquidly down his arm. Hastily, Snape closed his eyes.

_If I can't save Sebastian_, he thought with grimly, _then_ _I'd damn well save this boy. Even if it means destroying him._

* * *

_We are gods of death._

Shinigami. Or Tuatha de Danenn. Whatever the label given, the basic fact was still the same: the Japanese were no longer among the living.

Amber eyes, wrinkled with crows' feet at the corners, latched on to the redheaded former doctor. His nostrils flared; inhaling the scent of dust, tea, lemons and colognes. Resisting the urge to sneeze, he cocked his head to the side, unaware of how wolfish he looked at that particular moment. Although if Remus had bothered to turn a bit to the left, he'd have seen Harry trying to stifle a small smile, heartrendingly sweet in its honesty and rarity.

The werewolf expected something. He wasn't sure what, but surely _something _would change upon realizing that the man you truly enjoyed spending time with was dead and was neither a ghost, nor a zombie. Takashi breathed like any living human, and had a heartbeat (his senses could pick that up quite well), and had the warmth all living mammals did. So in essence, nothing changed.

Takashi. . .was Takashi.

Well, that certainly made things easier. He had no right to pass judgment on what made you Dark or not. He was fine proof of that wasn't he?

Snape was saying something, and the man's silky, yet oh so dour tones could catch the attention of a crowd. Which was his intent, Remus was sure. With effort, he turned his attention to what Snape was saying; what _was _he blath—oh.

With bemused interest, Remus watched the swift interplay between teacher and student, and wondered what the hell was going on. In the time that he had known the grim man, he had found Snape quite capable of using sex – or more accurately – the threat inherent in sex, to achieve his goals. The werewolf had even stumbled on him in an inexplicably unguarded moment, nearly naked and tangled in another's embrace. But this didn't have the feel of that; rather, it was as if something else that Remus couldn't quite put a paw on was motivating his secretive fellow professor. The boy faltered, caught in the throes of a blessedly mild seizure that was still enough to send a pulse of projected magic through the circular office. At the same moment, Remus noted the sudden, unwilling clench of Snape's hand in the fabric of his robes, nearly hidden between his thigh and the arm of his chair, and confusion crystallized into certainty, the wolf inside sorrowed. _Oh, Merlin! He's allowed himself to become fond of the boy! Heaven help us all._ Because there could be no other explanation for way he seemed tugged to follow the child as if on a leash.

No, not a child, he corrected himself. A man, if he was to believe Kyo's claim of his age earlier.

But in this bright, cheery office, comfortably overcrowded, and with the faint, lingering scent of lemon sherbets, Remus could believe the thin youth cradled lovingly in his mate's embrace was the age he had lied to be. Or younger – because the fear in those darkening eyes called out for someone to soothe it away – and certainly, their Potions Master seemed to be the one answering.

It was a complication that none of them needed. While Remus was nearly positive that Snape would never approach the younger Asian, he was just as sure that even a one-sided emotional involvement would be disastrous. If they were unable to break the curse and the boy died because of it (can a god of death die – again?), Snape would first condemn himself for the failure, and would then be driven by rage to take it out on everything else in his path. While he might have turned aside from the path to damnation, fury and destruction were still his instinctive response to any kind of overwhelming passion.

Remus quickly glanced around the assemblage, cataloging reactions: Moody, cross and oblivious as always was still slouched into a chair as far away from the rest of them as possible, his back firmly against the wall. Matsumada gazed only at his lover's haunted profile and unthinkingly laced supportive fingers with his. The expressions of the other two Asians were so guarded as to be nearly unreadable, but Remus was sure that the strange one's violet eyes swam with hopeless tears. On some level, they had already known the danger that Kyo faced from Voldemort, but Remus doubted that they would recognize this new threat.

Harry…Harry held himself back, but the werewolf could smell the longing, could taste the boy's need to be by his friend's side if wariness didn't overpower the mix. Lastly, Remus glanced at Professor Dumbledore. The werewolf flinched inwardly as the Head Master's sad blue eyes captured his. Yes, Dumbledore had seen and likewise understood that the stakes had just been raised. But even if another of their own had not now become involved, there was still no question that the Order would act to help. It was simply the right thing to do.

The wolf agreed; pack, even if they were a very strange pact by canine standards, was pack.

The elderly wizard shook himself, as though to shake off his sorrowful mood, deliberately swirling his wand at the teapot on his desk and attempting to refill everyone's cups. Snape came back to himself with a silent snarl of refusal, covering his cup with his hand even at the risk of being splashed with hot tea. "All is not lost," Dumbledore was saying as he sent the pot hovering over to McGonagall. "I've been in contact with my old friend, Nicholas Flamel."

"How is he?" McGonagall asked, a rare smile flitting across her normally stern features. She liked the master wizard, Remus recalled, having heard that she had spent a year-long internship with him when she had first decided to specialize in Transfigurations.

"Fading, as we all expected when he decided to allow the Philosopher's Stone to be destroyed." Seeing the identical looks of confusion on the four Asian faces in the circle, Dumbledore elaborated. "Nicholas is the only living wizard to have successfully completed the Magnum Opus, creating the aurum alchymial – alchemical gold – and the Elixir of Life. I was his partner for a number of years, which led to my allowing the Stone to be hidden here at Hogwarts. Harry can tell you in greater detail what kind of adventures _that_ caused during his first year here as a student." If the headmaster thought to elicit a response from the Boy Who Lived, he was disappointed. Harry merely ducked his head, studying tightly laced hands intently. The old wizard sighed, shifting his kind regard to Snape, ignoring the shuttered blankness that had settled on Snape's taut form. Dumbledore said calmly, "Nicholas concurs with your findings, Severus. Although he believes that the odds for success will increase dramatically if you were to factor in the White Oil created together with Mr. Shiozaki's Quinta Essentia."

Focused consideration chased surprise in a rapid play of emotion on the Potion Master's lean face. "Yes... Possibly." He slid down in the chair, crossing one ankle on top of the other knee in an uncharacteristically heedless movement. His heavy black robes shifted, revealing a polished, calf high boot of black leather and the snug line of his trousers across his knee. "Hmm. It will no longer act as a solvent upon the white clay, but the traces of the active components still present would be most instructive..." His voice trailed off as his agile brain began turning over new possibilities. One hand propped up his chin as he withdrew into thought. Remus bit the inside of his cheek in an effort to restrain an inappropriate laugh; Severus rarely permitted himself to lose track of his surroundings. Survival, after all, depended on constant vigilance as Moody was fond of saying.

The werewolf cleared his throat diffidently. "I've been looking to the wording of the Dark Lord's incantation. What he said at the end was fairly clear: _Enyalius_ _et Enyo, ades et satia scelerato, Sanguine Terra Ferrum, Aquae ferventes, Aer immundus, et per Ignem._ That would literally translate as 'Enyalius and Enyo, be by my side and satiate Earth's Cold Steel with Blood polluted by guilt, scalding Water, foul Air, and Fire.' Enyalius is an aspect of Ares, the god of war, in his role as the bringer of carnage, and Enyo is the murderess goddess of war. I would take it to mean that he intended to use the Four Elements to bring about death and destruction. I believe he's made a doomsday weapon out of Kyo."

Startled, the boy flinched at the familiar use of his name, but it didn't distract him from the real import of the werewolf's words. He paled further, if that was possible, saying faintly, "A weapon?"

Dumbledore nodded. "I had begun to think the same thing, Remus. Given the power that young Mr. Shiozaki has displayed in the past, I think it would not be unreasonable to assume that Voledemort's target is Hogwarts, and all of us. It would require something on this scale to breach the wards that protect us here."

"That. . .that would be the logical assumption," Kyo murmured, sagging further into Takashi. "Even without, I do. . ." he faltered, eyes unfocused.

"Shiozaki?" Snape bit out. Moving swiftly, he crouched before the boy and his mate in a swirl of black robes, stained fingers gently probing.

Takashi, Remus noted, allowed the touch, even going so far as to mention, "Kyo seems susceptible to these lapses. I fear his strength is greatly sapped from fighting the hold of the curse."

"Yes. . ." Snape hissed, displeased if Remus could trust his nose. "My theories have yet to take into account your little. . .revelation." He glared darkly up at Takashi, fingers tightening their grip on an unresponsive Kyo's chin.

"We are capable of regeneration," Kyo's mate answered neutrally, after receiving the barest of nods from Tsuzuki. "But it is tied with our magical core. If we are weakened enough, or forced to constantly maintain regeneration, then we are basically mortal. Your theory is sound – as best as I can understand it."

Satisfied, the dark man sank back on his haunches, stroking his cheek thoughtfully. The whitened spots of Kyo's flesh were slow to disappear. "Do you know what he intended to say?" he gestured tightly at the boy.

"I can guess," Takashi shrugged. "Even without the curse, Kyo is strong enough to take down your wards by himself." He noted their unease with a small smile. "If," he qualified, "he was willing to ignore or break all tenets governing onmyoujitsu and his gift. The simplest explanation is that he able to command the elements to do his bidding – in truth, it is a give and take relationship. He only asks from them what he can give back." He looked down on his mate with a fond smile, ruffling Kyo's hair gently. The boy stirred, looking around dazedly. "That connection is now tainted," Takashi continued quietly. "The elements are not dumb forces; they understand and are aware, at a level incomprehensible to us. All they know now is that Kyo has been sullied. The next time he engages his mastery – or is forced to – they will demand a reckoning. That alone will produce terrible, destructive energies we can ill afford."

The charged silence was broken when Snape shot to his feet, pacing to the farthest corner of the office and whirled around. "I think I have it. Perhaps." He paused, frowned indecisively, and then continued with renewed conviction. "Flamel is correct. The White Oil is critical, and I was an idiot for not recognizing the fact sooner."

Several jaws dropped at the unfamiliar sound of the egotistical Potions Master calling himself an idiot. That kind of treatment was normally reserved for the students who had the misfortune to attract his attention. Remus shook his head silently; they might never be the best of friends, but he knew the Potions Master well enough to have realized that no matter how hard he was on others, the man was harder on himself.

A sharp gesture with his wand conjured a blackboard in mid air, and Snape began writing swift symbols across it. He began with a triangle-on-a-cross, labeling it as 'Alchemical Sulfur'. The next column was headed by an egg with a line across its middle and the word 'Salt.' Last came an odd little caricature of a demon, together with 'Mercury.' His back was toward the combined numbers of the Order and the Japanese, which saved him from the urge to hex them all as grins appeared on every face – even Moody's. "Very well then. We know that the original formulation included saturnine water of antimony, gold, silver, cinnabar, realgar, sal ammoniac and semen. The blood of the Dark Lord was not present in the formation of the Quinta Essentia, and so can be considered as a contaminant. But in so doing, he has left us a loophole." Symbols for each ingredient were added to the columns, together with odd notations. The last item, the blood, was scrawled to the far right end of the board.

He paused and turned to face his audience, deep set eyes sparking with suppressed excitement and anticipation. A smudge of white chalk marred the tight cuff of his black robe, but no one pointed it out. Dumbledore rose slowly and passed around the end of his desk to better take in the formulation on the board. "Yes..." The elder man nodded. "I see."

"See what?" Kyo asked dazedly, looking first at the weird writing, then at the two wizards who stood facing one another with himself seated in between. With visible effort, the young man forced himself to concentrate, shaking off the earlier lapse and Snape looked down at him with a triumphant smirk.

"The key, Shiozaki. The key." They stared at one another for a long moment, the taller man's glittering black eyes holding the darkening blue of the younger effortlessly. Remus shifted again, uneasy for the implications that stare held. Then Snape broke the connection and turned back to the blackboard. He began writing again. "If we presume the White Oil as an active base, it is then possible to formulate a potion that will force the minerals from your flesh. It will require Aqua Regia, which Muggles know as a mixture of one part nitric acid and three parts hydrochloric acid. It is called the 'King's Water' because it is able to dissolve the king of metals, gold. And we will need vinegar, preferably distilled from a good vintage of wine that has gone sour. Vinegar is only a medium strong acid, but it reacts with most organic substances." As he neared the bottom of the blackboard, it scrolled up to provide him additional space.

Takashi spoke up, his voice shaking "You intend to feed Kyo a potion including acids?"

"Indeed. It will be a necessary first step." Snape was abstracted as he stepped back to review his calculations, then reached out with his wand and wiped half a row from the board.

"Professor! I object! You can't have people go around ingesting _hydrochloric_ _acid_. I'm a doctor, and there isn't a medical treatment on the planet that -" He was on his feet, shouting, normally gentle features flushing scarlet.

Snape spun sharply about, and took a fierce step toward. "This is not Muggle medicine, you fool! I do not lightly recommend administering toxins. I am trying to find a way to break the idiot boy's curse!"

Dumbledore's wand was in his hand, ready to intervene, but his voice was mild. "Severus, we know that. But perhaps it would be good if you were to explain your thought processes from the beginning. I think all of us, not just Professor Matsumada, would benefit."

"Very well, Headmaster." With poor grace, he acquiesced, forcing his clenched fists to relax. "I believe it will be possible to draw much of the Quinta Essentia out of Mr. Shiozaki's body, and in so doing to remove the contamination of the Dark Lord's blood. Once that pressure has been alleviated, Shiozaki ought to be able to fight – and hopefully break – the control that the Dark Lord had gained over his Elemental magic. But, he will have to consume these potions -" He gestured vaguely at the board behind his back. "They will separate the contaminated Quinta Essentia from his tissue. Once that has been done, he must be bled to remove as much as possible. A prolonged soak in a chemical bath should leach out the remainder. And yes, the process – potions, blood letting, and bath – will be both painful and dangerous. It will also require a complex casting of ritual magic on our parts, for even as Shiozaki is being killed by the poisons that I propose to use, others of us will be forcing healing on his body and interfering with the curse's function. It will become a race to see which occurs first, his death, or his salvation."

Kyo shuddered, the only visible concession he would allow for the fact that they were discussing feeding him acids and poisons. But the werewolf scented the fear, and the odd resignation.

"Well, at least they can't say we didn't try our best to rectify this," Shiozaki murmured to himself, and Remus wondered. . .who were 'they'? This Enma-sama they called upon often?

Takashi dropped heavily by his partner's side, dropping his head in his hands and mussing his neat hair beyond salvaging. "I wish…." He said, words muffled and unfinished.

"I know Taka," Kyo sighed tiredly. "I know."

* * *

Barny Bluster. That's what Charlie Whittington used to call him, back when schools were proper schools and not this mucking about with Muggle Studies – honestly! - and children pretending to be adults. Defense Association! Hah! _He _had seen right through that mortal boy's front. Could have called the boy's bluff, but he didn't. Couldn't anyway. Being dead does put a crimp in your lifestyle but he, like the past, illustrious Fudges of before - Merlin bless them! – he had persevered. He had made a name for himself. None of these schoolyard nicknames given by bullies who were jealous of a mate's inevitable rise to power and glory.

He was Banalius Fudge, Britain's Head of the Office of Regulations of the Affairs of the Dead. He commanded the Tuatha de Danenn. Figures of legends, whom, he had discovered, were just ordinary (dead) wizards and witches. And people needed a strong leader. Someone who could see what's right and what's not, and set them straight. He had seen it. Oh yes, he had. Better, without the distractions of a mortal life. He had seen that there was more to this than just a madman out for power and the death of a boy.

Banalius Fudge, had seen an Opportunity.

A square of purple, yellow-polka dotted handkerchief was dug out, and he wiped the sweat off his brow. That annoying man was still looming over him, and he detested it. So he was rather lacking in height; no need to flaunt it! And. . .he eyed the unnatural shadows warily, such an ostentatious display of power!

He licked his lips. Power that could be his, if he played his cards right.

"I say, I say old chap," he huffed, settling deeper into his padded seat, trying not to quail under the man's cold glare. "No need for that—" he waved a pudgy hand. "—just because we got the news faster than you lot. Well, I say your man has been delaying, maybe trying to put a better spin of things, eh?" He winked conspiratorially, putting a knowing finger alongside his nose. "Better men have done that, and we can't blame them. We all know the punishment for such offences, Tuatha and you. . ._Shee-nee-gar-mee_," he announced, pleased with the way he pronounced the rather awkward phrase. Tropical, backwater cultures; it showed in everything, from their language, to their manners.

"Indeed. Pray, refresh my mind on what these punishments are, and for what offence."

The man—oh, what _was _his name? Banalius discreetly nudged Smithers in the ribs, glancing significantly in the man's direction. Their unwanted guest, and his assistant, the blond, had taken the available seats, faces blank. Smithers – good man, if a bit touched in the head – shoved a piece of parchment under his nose. Banalius had to lean back to read it, and practice allowed him to retrieve only the most necessary information.

Seiichiro Tatsumi, Secretary of the Shokan (Summoning) Division.

A mere secretary! He huffed, and puffed, getting purple in the face.

"I say, man," he blustered, waving the parchment around. "I really don't approve of this visit, not at your rank! Really, Mr. Tat-Tas-oh, blast it! Mr. Tat!" He poked a fat finger in the secretary's direction, growing indignant. "And no surprise if you don't know the listed punishments! Stripped of their ranks, and that's just for breaking the code of secrecy! Banishment to the Forgotten Planes, at the very least, and eternity in the Seventh Hell for slaying humans!" Panting a bit, Banalius leaned back, confident that he had awed the man with that bit of trivia.

Only to find Mr. Tat looking supremely unconcerned, one leg crossed over the other knee, the sharp crease of his suit following the bent of his leg as though Nature intended it to be so. His blond assistant was smirking. And that blasted Sheen girl-! Was that a grin he saw, quickly hidden?

"Now see here," he said sternly, shaking an admonishing finger. No more Mr. Nice Wizard, oh no! Not for this lot of pompous, arrogant barbarians! "I'll be lenient this time and overlook it, but you're obviously very much not aware of the enormity of your willful flaunting of the rules. Honestly! Only Division heads are allowed to cross realms without prior invitation, and you've gone and brought along this poor chap—" he leveled the blond a kindly look; obviously he didn't know any better, "—and he'll be right beside you, in hot soup, when your superior hears about this!"

The smile he offered them was smooth and practiced, perhaps with a little touch of fatherly condescension. Leaning back in his seat, he took out his wand – nine inches of cedar, dragon heartstring – and conjured a proper tea service. Granted, it lacked touches of finesse such as the painted ivies and blooming roses like dear Mrs. Fudge was fond of, but it was a good set anyway. The tea had steeped the right amount of time; hardy, with the bitterness cut by a dash of milk, and he gestured expansively for them to indulge themselves.

"I could have overlooked the unnecessary close relationship they forged with Potter you know," he continued, magnanimously ignoring their pointed refusal to drink. Smithers by his side, nodded agreeably, quill scratching. Fudge reminded himself to destroy the records later and give Smithers another Obliviate. Really, the poor sop was getting too much of the Memory charm but it was for a good cause. He'd see that the man get a proper retirement plan for all his troubles. "But slaying five mortals?" he shook his head in practiced sorrow.

"You can't ignore the fact that Kyo and Hisoka were forced to protect themselves," the blond cut in, low and furious. Amber-gold eyes glinted behind wire-framed glasses, and Banalius sighed heavily.

"Really man," he complained. "They would not have been 'forced to protect themselves', if they weren't foolish enough to get kidnapped in the first place! I asked for your best you know, and frankly, I'm more than a little disappointed with what I've gotten so far." He took a sip of the tea, smacking his lips. The cup clinked gently against the plain saucer, arranged with tedious care.

"Cursebound spirits are not forced to obey the spellcaster." Banalius froze for a split-second, until he gathered his wits and shrugged.

"Any good wizard knows that," he replied loftily, and got a small laugh in return.

"Hardly, Fudge-san," he was answered, the Tat fellow looking supremely unconcerned. "It is a common, human held mistake. In actuality, the cursebound obeys the spellcaster because often it requires the same magician, or wizard, to release them in the first place. But it is not impossible for a skilled Child of Danna, or a Shinigami, to break the tethers. And despite the strength of the spellcaster, no cursebound can affect a Shinigami's soul while on the mortal plane. The damage is done on the Shinigami's physical body only. And yet, Tsuzuki-san reported just the opposite. That Narcissa Malfoy was able to grievously injure Shiozaki-kun, and forcibly transport both him and Kurosaki out of a warded castle."

The supposedly mere secretary leaned forwards, the gleam in his eyes turned hot. "A cursebound," he continued in a soft voice, "Is only able to affect a Shinigami on both planes if the spirit was given an imprint of a death god's aura. And please, do not insult me by claiming it a lucky chance, Fudge-san. Any _idiot _knows that Shinigami, and Children of Danna, have _unique, _identifying auras. And so I asked myself; who would have given Narcissa's wretched spirit the imprint of a Shinigami's aura, when even Voldemort was unaware of our existence?"

He delayed for time, fussing with the serviettes. "Suppositions, Mr. Tat," he answered airily, failing to look at him straight in the eyes. It was rather disconcerting how the pale blue irises seemed to glow with an inner, cold light. Smithers kept on taking dictation, damn the man's dogged tenacity with carrying out his duties. He resisted the urge to knock the quill out of Smithers' hand, though he was all too aware of the nervous looks his own secretary kept giving him. "You're making a mountain out of a molehill," he swiftly continued, fists clenching underneath the table, his wand gripped tightly. He didn't know how an Obliviate would interact with a Japanese death god, but he wasn't afraid to try and find out.

"Am I?" Tat asked mildly. "I am a man of science, Fudge-san. I prefer logic and numbers, as opposed to wild theories. And solid facts and figures tells me this-" the Japanese leaned forwards, pinning him in his seat with those merciless blue eyes and cold sweat slicked the hand-grip of his wand.

"Your department has been remarkably inefficient in retrieving lost souls. There are over thirty-three percent of unsolved cases in the wizarding world, with ninety-eight percent of those given the option of protected haunts. A deplorable number, but understandable considering your lack of staff. But what caught my interest, Fudge-san, was the fact that non-wizarding cases have a failure rate of seventy-nine percent. And with none of them offered the choice of protected haunting. _All _have been forcibly banished. And correct me if I'm wrong, Fudge-san, but no matter what realm, the law on retrievals is the same – banishment is a last resort as forcible deportation damages the soul and reduces the chance of reincarnation due to the need for rehabilitation."

There was a loud smack, and Banalius was hardly aware that it was his hand that throbbed, the length of cedar digging into the fleshy bit of his palm. "Now see here!" he said furiously. "Are you questioning my methods? Those seventy-nine percent are _Muggles! _Non-magical folks who ought to be damn thankful that we're retrieving them all the same! Barbaric, dirty creatures with their loud contraptions and outlandish habits! Why, if I had my way, they'd all be banished to the Forgotten Planes and good riddance I say!"

He panted, belatedly realizing that he was on his feet, and shaking with leftover adrenalin. Sweat dampened the back of his robes, made his collar itch and he fumbled for his handkerchief, wiping away the spittle.

"And isn't it interesting, Fudge-san," came the low, silky whisper that froze him to the spot, "That the monster you asked our help to retrieve, holds the same view on Muggles as you do?"

Banalius dropped heavily into his chair. The sick twisting in his guts said he had made a mistake, revealed his hand, and like a shark sensing blood in the waters, Seiichiro Tatsumi was moving in for the kill.

The pale blue eyes blazed, twin pinpricks of lights in the gathering gloom and it became his entire world when the velvet-dark whisper came again, and said **_It_**.

It.

The Words of Power that not even a Division Head could utter. This. . .he gasped, the breath freezing in his laboring lungs, this was the power of an Appointed.

_Oh, Merlin-! _A corner of his brain whimpered pathetically. _We've gone and bollocksed this up, haven't we?_

Like a slow invasion of Lethifolds, the shadows pulsed, oozing down and out from every crevice to pool on the floor and coating the walls. They throbbed with alien magic, holding him in place. The Words wrapped around his brain, squeezing with the slow force of a python, and he let out a low groan of pain. There was a furious thudding – why won't they just break down the damn door and – oh, it wasn't the door. It was his heart, struggling under the awesome power of a God's Appointed. Banalius mewled pathetically, soft hands spasming, and he knew without a doubt that he would truly die today oh Merlin help hi—

And as though it never happened, as though the Words were never said, the shadows rushed back, and the room was a room and not the slithering desolation of the Third Hell where souls were fed on the despair of a thousand other damned souls and where demons methodically flayed your skin with knives fashioned from their ice-laden breath. The not-secretary was just a man again, and there was a perfectly affable smile on his face, but his companion and that Shiina girl was frozen.

Frozen. Like Smithers, quill poised over the dictation parchment.

If he had doubted what his gibbering mind had insisted had happened a few seconds ago, this was proof. None but the Appointed, and the gods themselves could freeze time. And this Seiichiro Tatsumi had done it.

"I have had ill feelings regarding this mission request since the beginning, Fudge-san," the Appointed said calmly, chin propped in one, long, elegant hand and a small, utterly terrifying smile on his face. In this world fashioned a heartbeat away outside of reality, there was only him, and the Appointed called Seiichiro Tatsumi; a fact that the both of them were very much aware of, if Banalius had interpreted that smile right.

Sweat beaded down his face, dampening the back of his robes, but he didn't dare make himself comfortable.

"Allow me to point out the troublesome facts, Fudge-san," Tatsumi continued. "Regardless of the serious lack of capable Children of Danna, it is puzzling that you'd ask for four of our Shinigami. And not just any four, but the strongest. Class A Shinigami, Fudge-san." A tendril of shadow detached itself, snaking along the tabletop as though looking for prey, and it reared off the table, seeming to look straight into his eyes and Banalius gulped. Like a cobra, the thread of shadow swayed dreamily from side to side, and unbidden, he tried to follow it desperately, and all the while, Tatsumi's glacial blue eyes pinned him like a hapless moth on a collector's board.

"Then there is the puzzling fact my colleague, Tsuzuki-san, brought up; you had yet to make any contact with them despite several months in the mortal world, and absolutely nothing, after Kurosaki-kun, and Shiozaki-kun's kidnapping. Are you really that confident of their abilities, Fudge-san?"

Tatsumi seemed genuinely waiting for an answer, and the scared, rotund little man hurriedly wiped his face with the already sodden handkerchief. "Of-of course!" he blustered. "I asked for the best, and told them _quite _clearly that the matter is in their hands, and to use their best judgment! You have no idea the mess they caused here with their mucking about though! Had to postpone my breakfast meetings," he finished pompously, but quickly deflated when that damn smile refused to falter.

"Of course," the Appointed acquiesced. "Did you know, Fudge-san, that both Tsuzuki and Kurosaki-kun have fought a general of Hells Army before?"

He didn't, and the nervous twitch of his eye probably gave him away.

"But that's not all," Tatsumi continued, the not-smile growing wider. He had scored a point, and Banalius had given himself away. "You seem remarkably aware of my colleagues' activities, from before the kidnapping, during, and after. Aware enough, to compile a list of offences that could condemn a Shinigami. And yet, why did you not step in and put a halt to these 'offences', Fudge-san? Why did you let it continue? And…who told you? Perhaps…you planted a spy in Hogwarts?"

He opened his mouth, ready to defend himself when the Appointed leaned back, saying, "Tsk, no, not your own spy. . .someone else's. Voldemort's, perhaps? Serving two masters without his or her knowledge?"

Banalius cursed himself for that twitch, because it made that smile grew wider, and the shadows darker.

"I think, Banalius," Tatsumi said gently, kindly, "that you need to tell me _everything_."

* * *

She hissed, baring fangs sharper than a normal human's. "That hurts, ye son of a hyena!"

Suresh merely hummed, tying off the last knot. "Your insults are hardly creative, mistress," he rumbled, the gravelly tones hinting at laughter. The white gauze was staining rapidly with red, and he frowned; creased forehead adding more years to the already salt-and-pepper hair. The fire was burning low, caressing the older werewolf's face with craggy shadows that moved and slithered, like a ghoul slipping through the cracks. Akela hid a shudder, disguising it with a terse command for more vodka.

Suresh, long-time advisor, mentor, and more importantly, the lynchpin to her position as pack mistress, merely shook his head, long ponytail swishing across the broad, cotton-covered back. The serviceable shirt was golden in the dim light, the dark slacks hugging the powerful muscles of his thighs as feet stepped softly across wooden floorboards, quieter than what the heeled boots should have been capable of. A crystal decanter stood on a sideboard, half full with the clear liquid. Suresh was a man of modesty, but his vice were books and vodka.

"It would be pointless of me to ask if the negotiations fell through," he commented, taking a seat opposite, nursing his own drink and the smaller werewolf appreciated how well he looked; a lord in his domain. Suresh's house was small, but nicely appointed. His study, their bastion from the storm outside, was cozy despite the contradictory mess of ordered shelves and of papers on the desk tucked against a corner. Akela studied him with fierce, golden brown eyes; her admiration and respect bordered on the reluctant. Suresh Menon was, like his neat appearance and messy desk, a contradiction.

He was a powerful wolf; no doubt about that. His shoulders were broad as an ox's, the strength in his corded forearms able to crush a pup with a mere squeeze. But the formidable exterior could not hide the light of intelligence, the veritable walking library that was Suresh; gifted by the gods with parents who saw ignorance as a far worse curse then lycanthropy. And that was a dichotomy. The nature of their curse celebrated in his physical supremacy, in his muscled arms and powerful legs while their humanity admired the mind keener than the sharpest sword.

Suresh Menon was an educated predator.

And that very incongruity earned him the respect of the 'wolves. He was everything society said a lycan could not be and because of him, they obeyed Akela o'Meara with every breath in their body. For if Suresh respected her, than surely she was worth ten times theirs?

Her expressive lips curled into a sneer. "The white demon and his master spin lies out of air. Their spiel is regurgitated war-drivel; be they stupid enough to believe we'd fall for that trick again?"

"Never underestimate your opponent," he chided her gently. The leather armchair creaked as he leaned sideways, snagging a thick tome bound in green velvet off the nearest shelf. "History," he tapped the book, "tells us that no matter if the pretty words are the same, the dreams familiar dreams; if the dreamer is desperate enough, he will hoard it like miser's gold, and treasure its glint and glitter in the darkest nights."

"Ach." She took a neat sip of the vodka; the alcohol burned the throat and stomach like silver burned werewolf flesh. But this was a fire that they could control and quench at will, unlike the venom that was silver. It was no wonder that most lycans favoured the clear liquor. Its burn was something to focus on when silver poisoned the body. "You're right," she conceded reluctantly. "Even I was swayed by the snake's words. I wonder what befell the young human they were torturing?" she mused out of the blue, surprised to find herself thinking of the pale, blond child in Lucius Malfoy's torture chamber.

Akela O'Meara was many things. And cold practicality was one of them. The child was beyond her help – her own pack was her priority. The humans could take care of their own.

Suresh waved a large hand, the nails neatly trimmed, setting the issue of tortured children aside. "That they tried to eliminate you, mistress, bodes of ill things."

"Many things," she agreed, "And one of it is that the madman is a capricious creature who seeks only power and glory for himself. We will not follow him." It was an order, and not to be protested against.

Suresh gave her a seated bow. "Your will, mistress," he rumbled. "But it is undeniable as well, that we have made a formidable enemy."

"Then the answer is obvious, no?" she replied sharply. "We fight back."

"Not when half of our pack is facing starvation." Suresh's eyes glittered, an old wolf at the limit of his patience by a young pup's eternal optimism. "Voldemort will crush us. He has the resources and the utter disregard to use it all to destroy any who stands in his way to glory. You are a strong leader, Akela," he said with a bite of impatience, "but you think with your heart more often than you do with your head."

A terse silence blanketed the room; even the fire burned low, as though sensing the subliminal growl reverberating. The older wolf's shoulders tensed, bulky muscles coiling and straining the white shirt before abruptly relaxing. He bowed his head, baring the back of his neck.

"Mistress," he murmured. The ghost-light touch of fingertips against his skin wrenched a shudder through his powerful frame and he whined softly, bumping his head into her palm.

Akela, standing before him, accepted his submission with only the faintest, warning squeeze. "You are beloved, old friend," she said gently. "But show such disrespect again and I will tear your throat out."

"Mistress," he repeated and accepted the light nip at his ear.

But he meant it well, and in the end, she released him, turning to settle with a weary sigh onto the thick rug. The fire was stoked higher, driving away the storm and lightning lashing the walls of the house. Akela, sitting before the hearth with Suresh curled around her legs, head in her lap, said musingly, "I met him in the woods."

"Hmm?" Suresh stirred sleepily, quieting when his mistress carded her fingers through his hair, working it free from its tie. "That man?"

"That man," she affirmed. The glowing log popped, sending sparks through the air and Akela made her decision.

"We will seek him out."

The next roll of thunder shook the house to its foundation.

* * *

"We are ruled by symbols."

Lucius paused with goblet to mouth, the fumes of the aged whisky dizzying him for a moment. "My lord?" he asked cautiously. He wondered whether he should rise; Voldemort had abandoned his armchair to steadily pace the length of exposed floorboards before the fireplace. It gave the skeletal man an appearance of seeking comfort, the warmth of the crackling blaze perhaps, as the storm outside raged on as it had since the night he, Lucius Malfoy, lost his pretty little plaything. But the Dark Lord had forsaken earthly comforts as he had forsaken humanity.

High cut robes flared with the sharp turn, and the sharper eyes pinned the Malfoy to his seat with cruel amusement. Fleshless fingers stroked the hilt of a knife tucked in the sash, and Voldemort asked, gently, "What is your opinion, my Lucius? Are we not ruled by symbols in our lives? Slytherin for the cold and the ambitious, Gryffindor for the lion-headed fools, a circle and pentagram for protection against the forces you summon, the evil eye to ward off ill luck. Are they not all symbols, representations which we invest faith and magic in?"

The blond wizard carefully set his goblet down on the side table – beaten gold and tastefully encrusted with cut emeralds – and leaned forwards, lacing disfigured hands together. Voldemort in such a mood preferred a thinking man with the correct level of servility. Too much or too little…well, one had plenty of examples at hand of fools trying to play their lord. But strike the right balance…ah, strike the right balance and here he was; the Dark Lord's favoured. A position dear Bella had lost and could not reclaim.

Not when they used her shell to reinforce the curse that bound Narcissa's wretched spirit to this house.

"I believe so, my lord," he said humbly, dipping his head briefly. "Mortals need tools; apparatuses that could help focus their magic and will to achieve the desired outcome. Few can rise beyond that crutch." The tone of his voice left little doubt whom he meant by the minority.

Voldemort laughed, a soft sibilant laughter that sent a shudder of ecstasy down his spine and careful, cold-blooded calculation to disappear in the rush of heated devotion. This is the one he had sworn his life to-!

"Ah, my dear Lucius, ever the politician," said Voldemort, distinctly amused. "You yourself have just barely begun to understand that stark truth, my own message, do you not?" Whispers of silk and the tread of leather, and Lucius was looking up into the face of the one thing he had believed in when hot irons mangled his flesh and tore his fingernails out. His nostrils flared, inhaling dry spice, snake and the dust of ages. It was a far more intoxicating scent than quality whisky.

"The stupidity of the masses amuses me, Lucius," Voldemort was saying, skeletal fingers running through his hair, sliding richly through and a shiver sped down his spine. He leaned a little more into the caress, drunk on the attention given. "Why have they not learned from their past mistakes, as I have? To leave a treasure hoard that is the Ministry so inadequately unguarded. They tinker with objects of power, claiming it in the name of research but _failing _to see that the lack of proper use, demeans its existence."

"We will remedy that, my lord," he swore hoarsely. "We will use the treasures we took, use it as their creators meant. We will rain fury and destruction on the flock and cull the weak and the foolish."

"Well said, my Lucius," the Dark Lord murmured. "My beautiful serpent. And those dedicated aurors languishing in the dungeons, crying out for a saviour? The women who sit huddled in dark corners, wishing our eyes and ears are blind and deaf, that they would be overlooked, and spared the fate their sisters and children were given?"

"We will use them. Use them as we did the boy." He surged up, caught his lord's hand and pressed a fervent kiss to the cool, dry palm. A strangled laugh escaped him, his mind dizzied and fevered with blood and death and the _screams_. "Return them to their loved ones, let them steal a moment's joy, a warm hug and a sweet kiss. And we will repay it with sweeter pain and delicious agony as they watch their sister die a slow death as the blood boils. Let them plead to deaf gods as their mother plunges the knife into their flesh and rend them limb to limb--!" Gasping, cold sweat ran down his face, slipping into the furrows created by torn and repaired flesh.

"Lucius…my beautiful, obedient Lucius." His name fell from the pale lips as soft as a caress, and he leaned into the thin form standing before him eagerly. "How well you know what I enjoy. And I will enjoy myself, won't I?"

"Without doubt, my lord."

"But…tell me Lucius…what would the common, misguided fool think or feel when he hears of our casual destruction of their Ministry? When they realize that the return of lost love heralds more death?"

"They would feel despair," he answered throatily. His gloved hands skated the Dark Lord's ebony black robes, felt the silk sliding and with the reverence of a believer, he gently rested his hands against his master's hips. "They would know of your might, my lord, and that there's no one they can turn to…."

"Save Dumbledore and his pitiful army."

Lucius stiffened, silver eyes narrowing in hate, lips pulled back in a vicious snarl. "A fool to lead fools! He would take them to their deaths and they would follow, believing in sandcastles he builds!"

"Ah, and isn't that the key, dear Lucius?" Voldemort murmured, and he petted the man as he would Nagini, and there was the same devotion in both. "They _believe_. They invest their magic and faith in a white-headed fool because they believe in love, fairness and justice. They refuse to see…there is only power."

He leaned down, grasping Lucius' chin with black nails digging in cruelly into the flesh, and the kiss he took was vicious, leaving behind a streak of red on white.

"There is only me."

* * *

Snape had attempted to vanish immediately in the direction of the dungeons, but Remus caught hold of his sleeve. He had observed in the past that things were well so long as the Potions Master had something to occupy him, but left alone and unable to act, he was as volatile as any student-brewed incendiary. One small set back, and who knew what might happen? The taller man glared down at the werewolf's restraining hand and demanded waspishly "Is there something that you need, Lupin? I'm a trifle busy just now."

"I know. I thought I might be able to help. I have some ideas as to how we might frame the counter spell." He kept his voice on the pleasant side of neutral, and his golden-brown eyes were guileless as he stared up into Snape's face.

"Ah." The dark man relaxed marginally. "Very well then. You may accompany me to my laboratory."

Remus accepted the grudging offer for what it was: an olive branch. He and Severus had never gotten on well together – something about his attempting to tear the other apart one night while in his wolf's form – but at least they respected one another's abilities.

He released the black linen between his fingers and fell into step beside the Potions Master. Snape unconsciously adjusted his swift stride to accommodate the smaller man, inclining his sleek dark head to attentively listen to what he had to say. Remus found the concentrated attention unnerving, and it rattled what he had intended to say out of his brain. They had descended to the level of the entrance hall before his tongue found the words again.

He coughed. "I think the most significant line of the incantations that He-Who-Is-Not-Named used was _Seminate_ _aurum vestrum in terram albam foliatam. _It's Maier's sixth emblem from his _Atalanta fugiens_, and I can't help but think that that's important."

Severus's elegantly angular black brows shot up in astonishment. "Maier? I had no idea that you were familiar with his work."

"I've only ever read his discourses in translation." Remus admitted apologetically. "And that was years ago, so -"

"I think you are correct. We will have a look at my copy when we arrive." The darker man said abruptly. Remus was shocked by the unexpected agreement into stunned quiet as they reached the final staircase to the lower level of the dungeons. His own booted feet padded silently on the cold stone, and Severus's were also nearly inaudible. Years of hunting had given them both the gift to stalk their prey unnoticed. _We're more alike than I've realized._ Remus thought in surprise. And he wasn't sure whether he welcomed that realization or not.

Severus's private lab was actually rather nice. The room was not terribly large, but it was arranged in meticulous order. Immediately to the right was a long, low bench-like hearth on which several steaming cauldrons sat, their fumes drawn off by a deep, vented overhang. In the center were two large work tables at a good height for standing, together with sturdy metal stools. Beyond was a deep sink, and to the left were shelves loaded with immaculate glassware and a crush of books and scrolls. The floor was impossibly clean, and so were the whitewashed walls. It looked very nearly like a Muggle laboratory that Remus had seen pictures of during his wandering days. While he gawked from the doorway, the Potions Master strode past him and began checking the cauldrons that he had brewing.

"In his sixth discourse, Maier is mainly concerned with the preparation of the 'White Earth.' It's an obvious reference to the subject in his experiments." he remarked over his shoulder. Warily, the werewolf entered and let the door close on its own behind him. To his sharper than human normal senses, the lab was an overwhelming collage of scents – some bitter, some pleasant, others merely too strong for his nose. He sneezed.

" 'Subject?' " Drawing a cautious breath, he was relieved when there was no encore to his sneeze. "I'd always thought 'victim' to be a better choice of words. Have you the book?"

"Yes. Over there." Still engrossed in the contents of the cauldrons, Snape waved vaguely at the bookcase nearest the sink. Amused, Remus took it as permission to go digging for himself.

Not surprisingly, every title that he was able to read dealt with the art of potions. An eclectic mix of languages was represented: English, Latin, Greek, something that seemed – if he squinted at it just right – to be Polish. He'd picked up a smattering of Romanian as a free-lance vampire hunter and curse breaker, enough to know that it wasn't that.

Virtuously Remus fought off the temptation to snoop, and only pulled the _Atalanta fugiens._ He carried it to a clear spot at one of the tables and perched on a stool.

The woodcut illustrating a burly farmer throwing handfuls of seed at the freshly turned earth of a field was just as he remembered. And so, unfortunately, was the author's writing style. Absently, he took a scrap of parchment from a box in the middle of the work bench and plucked a quill from a jar. If Snape noticed that he made himself to home, he chose to ignore it. Grimly, Remus set to work reading the sixth discourse. A timer for one of the cauldrons ticked monotonously as accompaniment.

"Severus? I know that the _Atalanta fugiens_ is Maier's record of his experiments and major castings, but did he have to be so bloody obtuse?" Exasperated, he finally shoved the book away. He dropped his head into his hands, elbows resting on the table and fingers sliding up through the strands of his graying hair. The unpleasant scrape of blunt nails against his scalp helped to ground him. "It's obvious that he's discussing the preparation of a subject for a ritual involving a Quinta Essentia, but I can't make heads or tails of his bloody agricultural metaphors."

"Here." An impressively thick book in bad need of rebinding thumped onto the table beside his elbow. Remus straightened from his funk and shoved back his loose hair.

"What's this?" he asked curiously.

"Leinenwald's _Commentaries_." was the short reply.

Fighting back an inappropriate grin, the werewolf said "And I repeat, 'What's this?' " The Potions Master made an impatient noise and flipped open the book's cover.

"Leinenwald was Maier's student and assistant. It's odd to think that a man who was nearly a Squib in his lifetime is the only one of Maier's disciples to have gained a measure of renown." He took in Remus's politely doubtful expression, and continued in exasperation. "Then again, perhaps he has not achieved immortality. You certainly seem to have no concept of who he was."

Ruefully, he chuckled. "Pax, Severus. You know that History of Magic was never my strongest subject when I was a student. I'm only grateful that you know his work."

Mollified, the Potions Master flipped to a page illustrated by a sketch of a man writhing in agony on a floor patterned much like the one that they had seen in the Pensieve. Like Kyo, he was contained by a circle of symbols, framed within a larger triangle. Snape's voice was oddly gentle. "Leinenwald recorded his observations of each experiment. These are his notes on the sixth emblem. Perhaps they will help."

Mindful of the volume's weak spine, Remus drew it close and began to read. As if anticipating his response, the taller wizard remained motionless behind his shoulder until the werewolf turned to him. "Merlin..." he choked. "This is Dark magic."

"Yes." Snape briefly inclined his head. His ink dark eyes avoided the other man's golden brown ones. "But instructive."

Sighing, Lupin reached for another piece of parchment and the quill.

* * *

Takashi closed the door behind him, the half-hearted sizzle of an incomplete shield ward tingling his fingertips. His footsteps alternately rang out on cold flagstone, and muffled in the embarrassingly polite and earnest attempt at comfort of the lone, small carpet that barely covered even half the floor space. The colors were obscenely bright; a clashing purple and yellow that made the former sensei wince.

_Must be a refugee from the Headmaster's office, _he thought ruefully, and with barely a thought, changed the colors to something more pleasant to the eyes, a sea blue. This time, Takashi actually noted that the room was small, perhaps no more than nine tatami and was only meant for one occupant. He hadn't been in much of a state to notice even that the first time he was here. His entire attention had been taken up by his husband who was shackled by potions and trapped in nightmares. The bed had been shoved by the window, so that the patient could at least alleviate his boredom by looking out into the grounds and the Quidditch pitch.

"I hate hospitals."

Kyo's voice was tired, thin and scraped raw. Propped up by pillows, the yukata hanging loosely off his frame, Kyo had never looked younger or more lost. His hands lay lax on top of the covers, and Takashi covered them with his own, larger and far warmer. Kyo's felt like ice. Takashi kicked off his shoes, climbing up into the bed and his mate obligingly allowed him to haul the worryingly light frame into his lap. A soft sigh escaped him, and he settled Kyo more comfortably, lacing their fingers together. He buried his face into the back of Kyo's head, inhaling that familiar scent deeply; even lethargic to the point of catatonia would not deter Kyo from taking care of his personal hygiene and as such, his silky fine hair still retained the fragrant scent of peaches. It almost, _almost_, made it possible for him to ignore the problems of prominent ribs, painfully concave stomach and the haunted, deadened look in unnaturally colored eyes that spoke all too eloquently of imminent ends.

"Remus and Snape are designing the counter ritual right now," he said in a whisper, locks of smooth black hair catching on his lips. "They say it's best to do it on the night of the full moon, since the curse was done during the new."

"Mm…" Kyo shivered, goosebumps prickling his skin and Takashi hitched the blankets higher, covering them both. "Too long to wait," Kyo murmured. The raspy voice turned dreamy as the painkillers Pomfrey had plied him with earlier kicked in. "I won't be able to hold on."

Pain squeezed its claws around his heart, and Takashi rested his forehead against Kyo's shoulder. "I know." He shut his eyes, wishing he could shut away reality that easily. Could ignore how cold the body he held on so tight to was.

"Maybe….during noon?" Kyo offered, sleep tingeing his voice. "The sun at its zenith would offer the strongest _yang_, counteract the _yin _of the new moon."

"Yes," he answered, muffled in cotton. "That's what I told them." He raised his head, pressing a soft, trembling kiss against Kyo's cool cheek. His mate sighed, a pleased hum.

"That feels nice," Kyo said drowsily. Silence fell between them, and Takashi was loathed to break it, the oath he took as a mortal doctor stinging his conscience. It demanded what justification he had, telling his partner his plans now, when pain clouded his koi's mind even as the drugs fought it. _Because, _he argued back, _it might be too late if I wait._

"Kyo…"

"Hmm?"

"I want us…" he swallowed, forced the words out past the lump in his throat. "I want us to resign when this is done."

He could have told Kyo that he wanted to eat chicken for dinner tonight for all the reaction he got. "Alright," his koi murmured. "If that's what you want."

"It is." He tightened his embrace, an almost punishing hold but Kyo accepted it as easily as his decision to give up their existence as gods of death. Takashi cursed himself for a bastard, guilt tearing inside. But the unbearable agony in witnessing his partner's suffering outweighed all that.

If it meant tricking Kyo into saying yes when his mind was befuddled with drugs, so be it.

"It's okay." Kyo yawned, settling deeper into his embrace. "I'm sorry. I've always made you worry, don't I?"

"It's okay," he echoed Kyo's words. "It's okay if we're together. Always. You promised me that, remember?"

"I do."

The silence then was calmer, held less of the fear and more of the peace. Takashi slowed his breathing to match Kyo's. He could almost pretend then, that they were back home in their own apartment and that Watari would drop by soon to convince them to try his latest experiments. He could pretend that everything was normal.

"Taka?"

The soft, breathy voice could have been swallowed by the layers of blanket, could have gotten entangled in the wards that shielded the room and fused into every block and mortar. It could have gotten lost and never reached his ears but then, Kyo could be calling from the other side of the world in that same near-whisper and he would still have heard.

"Mm?"

"Do you know where I was buried?"

Hazel green eyes flew open in shock; his chest hitched, an uncontrolled spasm forcing the hand Kyo still held to twitch in his grip and Takashi almost choked on his next indrawn breath. His voice, when he found it, was croaky and raw, scraped and dry from the sudden shock. "W-what?"

"I wasn't allowed to come down to Chijou again after saying goodbye to you." The wistful voice would have been suitable for talking about the weather, not about your own death. "I had to be trained first and have a partner before I could. And I wasn't allowed to be anywhere in your vicinity. So I never got to go to my funeral."

_He's confused, _Takashi tried to reassure himself. _The medication is a mild hallucinogenic. It's making him ramble. He probably doesn't realize what he's asking._

But that didn't make the memories stop either.

_Dark, overcast sky._ _Grey mixed with the black and white; scudding clouds that threatened rain with a belligerent note and had the mourners casting their eyes heavenwards nervously. His broken leg throbbed sympathetically with the cold and the wheelchair he was forced to use was uncomfortable to say the least. Bits of grass clung to the metal spokes and dew marred the shiny brilliance of impersonal steel._

_The turnout for one of the most popular students in school was large, only to be expected really. More than three hundred people had attended, filling the church to overflowing and even now, darkened the cemetery with rivers of grieving black. But even with the amount of people there, he was left in an island of personal anguish, Hikaru and Ken by his side and their shared misery drew a cloak of privacy around them, pushing the onlookers, gawkers and casual acquaintances away._

_The rectangle wound of gaping empty hole amidst the bright, manicured grass with the dark wood coffin ready and waiting above it was a gruesome, intoxicating sight he could not tear his eyes away from._

"Why?" he whispered. "Why are you asking me this?"

_A single red rose clutched in his unfeeling hand. The other lay lax and limp on his lap. Nurses at the hospital had cast him pitying looks and one had patted his shoulder as she arranged the folds of the blanket covering his legs carefully. She was the one that had given him the rose._

_Kyo_ _didn't like roses. Said that they were too much, too full, too vibrant and the shape, smell and color dizzied him, made him nauseous and churned his gut with the flower's ability to crowd out others merely by its existence. His koi liked lilies better. Pure white and unmarked by freckles of colors._

_But Takashi only had a rose for him today. _

Kyo shrugged; an infinitesimal movement restricted by his hold. "I was just wondering."

Takashi swallowed dry and he couldn't help but shudder as memories he thought had faded after thirty-plus years proved to be as fresh as yesterday's. "St. Andrews," he managed to choke out. "We buried you in St. Andrews, near their older section."

"I like St. Andrews," was Kyo's answer. "The cemetery there was peaceful, when I saw it last."

Takashi did not know what to say to that.

"Did they bury you beside me?"

A low whine erupted from his throat and Takashi buried his face in Kyo's neck, his sobbing muffled.

"Yes," he gasped. "Yes, they did."

"Good." It was that odd, peaceful acceptance that unraveled him and Takashi cried, letting his tears spill on to Kyo's too-cold skin. Kyo was patting his hand comfortingly in a slow, sleepy rhythm that did nothing to stop the tears from falling.

The difficulty with grief and grieving was that he could never be allowed to indulge in it in peace. Beyond the door that connected to the larger hospital ward, raised voices and the shrill squeal of hard casters on a harder floor announced the arrival of some other unfortunate. Trained instincts that were never really buried rose, making him wipe ineffectively at his eyes and his feet were already on the floor before he paused, looking guiltily at his partner's back.

The light, but even breaths said that his mate was still awake, but willing to be good and try to rest anyway. And not stopping him from leaving.

With a quiet, "Gomen," Takashi put on his shoes and eased the door open. He took a quick glance around the outside ward as he closed back the door, reminding himself to reactivate the shield wards later. Knowing Kyo, the boy would be out here as well and it was better if Kyo did not engage his talents just to undo a ward.

The first thing that caught his eye was the small body lying peacefully on a bed. A girl, he noted, trying not to remember a time when he _was _a doctor, in a school of laughing children and Kyo would give the most outrageous excuses to visit the infirmary.

_This isn't Josui_, he reminded himself, taking a deep, steadying breath.

The girl lying in the hospital bed wasn't breathing, was too still for her to be anything but dead.

_And so was the still warm body he clung to so desperately, ignoring the wetness dampening his coat and chilling his skin where it soaked through. "Please, sensei. He's d-dead. Please let go. We have to get you to the hospital as well."_

The swish and flick of a wand, and the no-nonsense tones of the Hogwarts medi-witch snapping "Rescusita!" brought his memories crashing to a halt. Squaring his shoulders, Takashi resolutely set aside old pains and old grief, realized that there was a Hogwarts professor with them and managed to recall the witch's name before he nodded a greeting.

"Professor Sinistra," he said quietly, watching the medi-witch's crisp movements. He did not try to help – his instincts and his connection to Enma said plainly that the girl, Amanda Fitzhugh, sixth year Ravenclaw, was beyond saving. But he didn't stop Pomfrey either. He turned his attention to the young, astronomy professor, her usual dreamy gaze decidedly flustered and for once, actually concentrating on something else besides the heavens. "What happened?"

"I f-found her in the observation tower," she stammered, wringing her delicate hands. "I saw the door was open and these children, really, they know it lets in such a draft to my quarters when they do and I thought, well, surely they can't be thinking of assignations right now—"

"Professor," he interrupted, gripping her chilled hands in his own and squeezing gently. "Breathe."

The loud whoosh almost sent her dangerously listing hat flying but some color returned to her pale cheeks. She squeezed back, gratitude in her eyes. "I found her then," she continued calmly, even though the nervous twitch at her right eye had yet to subside. "Already like…like that." Sinistra indicated the girl with a sharp jerk of her chin.

"Did you see anything suspicious?" he asked. "Anything that caught your eye? Anyone?"

She shook her head slowly, and gravity claimed her hat. Dark locks of hair tumbled free, transforming her into a beautiful young woman but she was oblivious. "No…" she answered slowly. "No one else. Just her and oh-! Her wand." Sinistra, with some reluctance, worked her hands free and patted her robes down. She extracted a thin length of wood from one of her pockets.

"Have a care, dear." the older woman snapped. Her sharp eyes were trained on the patient she worked so relentlessly to save, but her free hand shot out and snatched the wand from Sinistra's trembling fingers. "The headmaster will want to cast _priori incantantem_ to see if she managed to get a shot off at whoever did this to her."

Takashi and Sinistra stood quietly at the side, but it wasn't long before the nurse stopped, shoulders slumping in defeat. "She's gone," Pomfrey announced needlessly. Something vital drained out of her then, and a pang of sorrow shot through Takashi's heart. He knew the feeling of bitter disappointment well.

"Poppy?" Sinistra asked, voice small and scared. "What…what did she…d-die of?"

"The Killing curse," she answered flatly. "No signs of struggle, and no apparent damage as well. Her heart simply stopped beating and…" her hand hovered over the eyes opened wide in fear, refusing to close despite the nurse's attempts to.

It was the first time Takashi had seen the effects of the _Avada_ _Kedavra _and the former sensei found that he didn't like it much. Death, when it came, was hardly welcomed to most but to die with that kind fear...it was truly unforgivable.

"Poppy, I came as fast as I—oh, dear." Dumbledore practically flew in but stopped immediately by the occupied bed and his shoulders sagged, the weariness they carried all too similar to Poppy's. His hand, white and trembling, tried to close the girl's eyes but again, they refused. "What happened?" he whispered, arm dropping uselessly at his side.

Sinistra again recounted the events that led up to that moment, her voice cracking throughout. Takashi left her side as she broke into tears, comforted by the old Headmaster. He stood next to the nurse, and held out his arm.

"Come," he said quietly. The air shimmered, twisting down to form a shadowy bird that gripped Takashi's arms in black talons. A soft _kee! _echoed throughout the infirmary, and the door at the end opened, a head of dark hair peering inquisitively out. "Inform Tsuzuki and Hisoka what happened," Takashi instructed his shikigami. "Ask Hisoka if he can glean any clues from where they found her body, and Tsuzuki to contact the Tuatha."

With another ringing cry, the construct took off, circling once and shot off through a wall. Dumbledore meanwhile, took the dead girl's wand that Pomfrey offered, turning the slim length of wood over and over in his wrinkled hands. "Another death," the old wizard said to himself. Dimmed blue eyes closed briefly in regret but that did not stop him from taking out his own wand and placing it tip to tip with the girl's.

"To show what were the wand's last spells," he murmured to Takashi. "_Prior Incantato_."

Green, ghostly mist erupted from the girl's wandtip, along with a faint scream. Disturbed, Dumbledore broke off the connection and he exchanged a troubled look with the nurse.

"_Ms. Fitzhugh _performed the _Avada_ _Kedavra?_" Pomfrey asked incredulously. "Surely she did not kill herself, Headmaster!"

"Why not?" Takashi asked curiously, resolutely ignoring troublesome memories dragged up, of a young girl thanking him only to throw herself to her death. Soft footsteps pattered up to his side, and he automatically made room for his koi, slinging an arm around the thin shoulders. Kyo leaned into him more than necessary, obviously lacking the strength to stand on his own but Takashi bore his weight without comment.

"Out of the three Unforgivables," Dumbledore said, "The Cruciatus and the Avada Kedavra requires not only a strong will, but the intent to cause harm, fueled by hatred." The Headmaster met his gaze squarely, saying, "I do not believe that Ms. Fitzhugh could have hated herself that much, to end her life with the Killing curse. And there is also the fact that a Priori would have shown the effects, and not the spell itself. It would have shown us a memory, a shade of Ms. Fitzhugh herself."

"And it did not," Takashi murmured, unconsciously hugging Kyo tighter. "Perhaps…she was attacking someone or something then, rather than trying to kill herself…"

"Ne, Taka?" A tug at his shirt made him look down into deep, navy blue eyes, and despite it, Takashi smiled, and it managed to grow just a little bit wider when Kyo had to pause for a jaw-cracking yawn.

"Yes, koi?" he asked quietly.

"Where's the girl's spirit? Did you send her on?"

He stilled, mind working frantically at the implications of his answer. "No…" he said slowly. "I didn't…and nor did Tsuzuki or Hisoka. They would have told us. And we are not allowed to in the first place," he explained distractedly to Dumbledore's mute enquiry. "This is not our jurisdiction and there has not been any Child of Danna assigned to this school, or the surrounding district for the past fifty years."

Dumbledore stilled, stroking his long beard thoughtfully. "Interesting," he murmured, but the calculating gleam in his eyes disappeared when his gaze fell upon the dead girl. "How will I tell your parents, Amanda?" he sighed. "Takashi, I…" he faltered then, looking at Kyo with such intensity that the sleepy young Shinigami tilted his head to the side, asking curiously, "Sir?"

Takashi shushed him, understanding the reason for why the Headmaster's glint of determination wavered, why his mouth thinned with the ache of doing what was a necessity. He appreciated the fact that the old wizard could still find the burden of asking a heavy weight, could still find it painful to ask more from those who had given so much. For that, Takashi gave him respect and he gently turned Kyo into his embrace, shielding his mate. Kyo was clearly confused but like his earlier, eerily calm acceptance, he followed his prompting without question, snuggling into his side.

"Yes, Headmaster?" Takashi asked calmly.

Dumbledore, with Sinistra still crying, stroked her long hair once, and the witch sagged in his arms. With care, he laid her down on another bed, patting her damp cheeks before turning to face them. "I would ask your help, Shinigami," Dumbledore said gravely, and their title fell from his lips easily. "Find the one who caused the death of my student, that we mortals might exact our own justice."

Takashi bowed, as deep as he could with Kyo still clinging tightly to him.

"As you ask of us," he said softly. "So shall it be."

* * *

**To be continued...dammit.**

* * *

**Kelly: **Again, apologies for the lateness. If this chapter sucked, in your opinion, it's entirely my fault. Word of warning; it is most likely that this story will end in a couple more chapters, and there will **not **be a sequel. You just gotta let a good thing die a peaceful detah, y'know? Do review.


	39. Dear Readers

Dear Readers,

It is with regret that I inform you that this story is officially discontinued. It is not due to trivial boredom or some such, but myself and Lisa are truly at a lost with the story. I started this on my own, still such a newbie in writing and fics, and very much deep in the love of all things angsty and went way above and beyond to get that angstiness. I started WDCAK with minimal plotting or direction, and when I was lucky enough to get Lisa to join me halfway through, we progressed on admittedly shaky footing.

Lately, it's getting harder and harder to continue with such and it's becoming more "work" than "joy" writing this. In the interest of our extremely limited time, and energy, I am stopping this story so that I and Lisa can concentrate on writing new fics, fresh from scratch, and me learning well from my mistakes.

I do apologise for this, and humbly ask for your understanding. I and Lisa will continue writing in other fandoms and this one too, but with new stories. Please look forward to that.

Regards,

Kelly


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